-    >- 


GIFT  OF 

Saacrort 
LIBRARY 


THE 


SELECT    ACADEMIC    SPEAKER; 


CONTAINING 


|tomtor  &  1*  ^  $j$r0jriaie  fiws, 


FOR 


PROSE  DECLAMATION,  POETICAL  RECITATION, 
AND  DRAMATIC  READINGS. 


CAREFULLY 


SELECTED  FROM  THE  BEST  AUTHORS,  AMERICAN, 
ENGLISH,  AND  CONTINENTAL 


ARRANGED  IN  A  RHETORICAL  ORDER,  AND  ADAPTED  TO  THE 
WANTS  OP  CLASSES  IN 


SCHOOLS,  ACADEMIES,  AND  COLLEGES. 


BY 


HENRY   COPPEE,  LL.D., 

PRESIDENT   OF  THE  LEIIIGH    UNIVERSITY. 


FOURTH  EDITION. 

PHILADELPHIA: 
PUBLISHED  BY  E.  H.  BUTLER  &  CO. 

1867. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860,  by 
E.  H.  BUTLER  &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the  Eastern 
District  of  Pennsylvania. 


64  FT  OF 

Bancroft 

LIBRARY 


PREFACE. 


THE  great  extent  and  variety  of  English  and  American  litera- 
ture, are  a* sufficient  warrant  for  publishing  a  new  book  of  extracts 
from  their  valuable  stores. 

Add  to  this  the  importance  which  literature  has  attained  in  this 
age ;  the  new  authors  of  merit  and  genius  who  are  almost  daily 
appearing,  and  the  correspondent  increase  in  our  standard  litera- 
ture, and  what  was  before  simply  warrantable,  becomes  almost  a 
necessity. 

Without  disparagement  of  many  excellent  books  already  pub- 
lished, it  must  be  said  that  we  have  delayed  too  long  upon  the 
hackneyed  though  beautiful  periods  of  a  few  favorite  orators  or 
authors;  and  that  those  acquainted  with  the  wants  of  academies 
and  colleges,  know  how  difficult  it  is,  in  any  such  work,  to 
find  what  young  speakers,  and  their  hearers,  alike  crave, — some- 
thing new. 

Such  is  the  experience  of  the  compiler  of  this  volume,  an 
experience  of  years  in  the  suggestion  and  selection  of  pieces  for 
declamation  by  students :  and  this  has  prompted  the  publication 
of  the  present  volume. 

To  meet  these  wants,  he  offers  the  following  as  among  the  claims 
of  "  The  Select  Academic  Speaker": — 

The  selections  are  with  few  exceptions  new:  they  have  not 

(3) 

86I3I4 


iv  PREFACE. 

appeared  before  in  books  of  this  character.  A  very  small  number 
of  old  favorites  have  been  admitted,  which  from  their  sterling 
merits  seemed  to  demand  this  recognition. 

While  care  has  been  taken  to  bring  new  pieces  together,  they 
have  been  selected  not  for  this  quality  alone,  but  also  for  their  real 
merits, — the  finest  efforts  of  oratory  and  the  varied  enunciation 
of  true  poetry  are  here  collated,  with  the  hope  that  their  study  and 
recitation  will  instruct  and  refine  the  student's  heart. 

Another  aim  has  been  to  present  short  pieces :  the  time  allotted 
to  the  individual  speaker  in  seminaries  where  there  are  many 
students,  is  but  small;  and,  besides,  the  complaint  of  those  who 
have  many  studies  to  carry  on  connectedly,  is,  that  the  pieces 
ordinarily  selected  are  too  long  to  be  easily  learned  during  the 
pressure  of  other  lessons. 

On  account  of  the  brevity  of  the  extracts,  and  the  small  but  clear 
type  in  which  the  book  is  printed,  a  greater  number  of  pieces,  and 
a  more  numerous  collection  of  authors,  have  been  presented  than  ID 
any  similar  book.  Care  has  been  taken  to  do  justice  to  the  great 
minds  of  all  parts  of  our  country,  and  as  far  as  possible,  by 
avoiding  all  sectional  and  sectarian  bias,  to  fit  the  book  for  the 
great  popular  wants  of  education  throughout  the  Union. 

With  the  earnest  hope  that  he  has  succeeded  in  his  honest 
attempt,  the  compiler  places  his  book  in  the  hands  of  the  instruct- 
ors and  students  of  the  United  States. 

H.  C. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  PENNSYLVANIA,  June  1860. 


THE  present  edition  of  the  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER  has  been  thoroughly 
revised,  and  a  few  new  and  beautiful  pieces  have  been  substituted  for 
those  which  the  compiler  has  found,  by  his  use  of  the  book,  least 
adapted  to  the  wants  and  tastes  of  his  pupils.  His  thanks  are  due  to  the 
teachers  who  have  introduced  the  Speaker  into  their  institutions,  and 
who  have  given  their  hearty  commendations  of  it. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  PENNSYLVANIA, 
Ftbruary  1, 1865. 


CONTENTS. 


PART    I. 
DECLAMATIONS    IN    PROSE. 

ACADEMIC   AND   POPULAR. 

PAGE 

The  Orator's  Art, JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS,     .  27 

The  Orator's  Gift, ABBE  BAUTAIN,      ...  28 

The  Wonders  of  the  Dawn, EDWARD  EVERETT,     .     .  28 

The  Duties  of  the  Historian, MITCHELL  KING,    ...  29 

Popular  Government  in  America, DANIEL  WEBSTER,      .     .  30 

Language  and  Poetry, JOSEPH  R.  INGERSOLL,  .  31 

The  Glory  of  Athens, JOSEPH  R.  INGERSOLL,  .  32 

The  True  Inspiration  of  the  Orator,    ....  ABBE  BAUTAIN,      ...  32 

The  Statesman's  Panoply, JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS,     .  33 

Mount  Ebal  and  Mount  Gerizim, JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS,     .  34 

Early  Astronomy, LORD  MACAULAY,       .     .  35 

Installation  Speech  at  Glasgow, LORD  MACAULAY,       .     .  36 

The  Influence  of  Byron, LORD  MACAULAY,       .     .  36 

The  Miracles  of  Nature, THOMAS  CARLYLE,      .     .  37 

Mysteries, THOMAS  CARLYLE,      .     •  38 

The  Origin  of  Universities, THOMAS  CARLYLE,      .     .  39 

Atheism  Absurd,       THOMAS  CARLYLE,      .     .  39 

Theism  and  its  Tenets, THOMAS  CARLYLE,      .     .  40 

Kings'  Desires, LORD  BACON,     ....  41 

Studies, LORD  BACON,     ....  42 

Beauty  aud  Utility,        WIELAND, 43 

English  Valor, DR.  JOHNSON,    ....  44 

Truth, LORD  BACON,     ....  45 

Mental  and  Moral  Greatness, DR.  STEVENS,    ....  45 

Pacific  Railroad, CALVIN  COLTON,     ...  46 

The  Exile's  Hope, VICTOR  HUGO,    ....  47 

Golden  Grain, EDWARD  EVERETT,     .     .  48 

The  New  Olympiad, MORTON  McMicHAEL,     .  49 

The  Preservation  of  the  Union, EDWARD  EVERETT,     .     .  49 

The  Sons  of  Georgia, BISHOP  ELLIOTT,    ...  50 

The  Sculptor's  Art,       HENRY  REED,   ....  51 

The  Great  Mountains, JOHN  RUSKIN,         ...  51 

The  Student's  Duties,   . JAMES  WALKER,  D.D.,  52 

Calvert  and  the  Maryland  Charter,      ....  WILLIAM  GEORGE  REED,  53 

The  Finite  and  the  Infinite, R.  C.  WINTHROP,         .     .  54 

Florence  and  its  Treasures, EDWARD  EVERETT,     .     .  55 

Tolerant  Christianity  the  Law  of  the  Land,      .  DANIEL  WEBSTER,      .     .  55 

The  Obstacles  to  Christianity,     .......  STEPHEN  COLWELL,    .     .  56 

Christian  Courage, WILLIAM  C.  RIVES,    .     .  57 

I*  (5) 


I 

vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Demon  of  Speculation, DR.  BOARDMAN,     ...  57 

The  Influence  of  the  Classics,     ......  JOSEPH  STORY,       ...  58 

Modern  Authorship, JOSEPH  STORY,       ...  59 

The  Demeanor  of  Books, JOHN  MILTON,        ...  00 

National  Vigor, JOHN  MILTON,   ....  60 

England  and  America, GEORGIA  P.  MARSH,         .  61 

Degrees  of  Imagination, LE*IGH  HUNT,     ....  61 

The  Cataract  of  Niagara, CHATEAUBRIAND,  ...  63 

Italy, HORACE  BINNEY  WALLACE,  63 

The  New  World  and  the  Old, ARNOLD  GUYOT,     ...  64 

Vathek  in  the  Hall  of  Eblis, WILLIAM  BECKFORD,      .  66 

The  Dramatic  Age, HENRY  REED,    ....  66 

Culture  of  the  English  Language,        ....  HENRY  REED,    ....  67 

Byron's  Tomb,     .     .     » WASHINGTON  IRVING,     .  68 

Address  of  Nicias  to  his  Troops, THUCYDIDES,     ....  69 

Common  Things  Important, R.  C.  WINTHROP,    .     .     .  69 

The  Physician's  Duty  and  Responsibility,  .     .  DR.  J.  W.  FRANCIS,   .     .  70 

The  Smithsonian  Institute, JOEL  R.  POINSETT,     .     .  71 

The  First  Predicted  Eclipse, 0.  M.  MITCHEL,      ...  71 

Kepler's  Discovery  of  the  Third  Law,      ...  0.  M.  MITCHEL,     ...  73 

The  Treaty  of  Shackamaxon, HENRY  D.  GILPINT,      .     .  74 

The  Settlement  of  Pennsylvania, HENRY  D.  GILPIN,      .     .  74 

Canova's  Triumph, CARDINAL  WISEMAN,       .  75 

Devotion  to  Science, AUGUSTLN  THIERRY,       .  76 

European  Names  in  America, AUGUSTIN  THIERRY,        .  76 

The  Progress  of  Civilization, GUIZOT, 77 

The  Pilgrims  of  New  England, S.  S.  PRENTISS,      ...  78 

The  Value  of  the  Union, S.  S.  PRENTISS,      ...  79 

English  Opinions  of  France, DR.  DURBIN,      »     .     .     .  80 

Napoleon's  Tomb, DR.  DURBIN,      ....  80 

Man's  Immortality, WILLIAM  PROUT,        .     .  81 

The  Stone  Age, WALTER  SCOTT,      ...  82 

Penn  and  Lycurgus, GULIAN  C.  VERPLANCK   .  83 

The  Spread  of  Knowledge, W.  E.  CHANNING,        .     .  84 

The  Heavens  Proclaim  the  Deity,  ......  0.  M.  MITCHEL,     ...  86 

The  Franks, AUGUSTIN  THIKRRY,        .  86 

The  House  of  Refuge, JOHN  SERGEANT,    ...  88 

The  Dutch  Republic, GULIAN  C.  VERPLANCK,  88 

The  Use  of  Knowledge, CARDINAL  WISEMAN,       .  89 

English  Prisons, SYDNEY  SMITH,      ...  90 

Ireland  and  Grattan, SYDNEY  SMITH,      ...  91 

Rapid  Progress  in  Agriculture, W.  M.  MEREDITH,       .     .  92 

The  Wonders  of  the  Deep, ANONYMOUS,       ....  93 

Aspects  of  the  Ocean, ANONYMOUS,       ....  93 

Farewell  to  the  Army  at  Fontainebleau,  1814,  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE,  94 

Charlemagne, MONTESQUIRU,        ...  95 

Proclamation  to  the  Army  of  Italy,    ....  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE,  95 

Washington, CHARLES  PHILLIPS,         .  96 

Inauguration  of  the  Monument  to  Henry  Clay,  JOHN  TYLER,     ....  97 

The  Great  Merits  of  Henry  Clay, JOHN  TYLER,     ....  98 

English  Culture, LOUD  JoiiN'R,ussELL,     .  99 

The  Egotistical  Talker, J.  B.  OWEN,       ....  100 

The  Sense  of  Beauty, ^ ....  W.  EL  CHANNING,        .     .  101 

Books, "...-.  W.  E.  CHANNINU,        .     .  102 


CONTENTS.  vii 

JUDICIAL,  FORENSIC,  AND  PARLIAMENTARY. 

PACE 

Impressment  of  American  Sailors, HENRY  CLAY,         .     .     .  103 

Abuse  of  Napoleon, HENRY  CLAY,    ....  104 

Reply  to  John  Randolph, HENRY  CLAY,    ....  105 

The  Building  of  National  Roads, HENRY  CLAY,    ....  105 

Address  to  Lafayette, HENRY  CLAY,    ....  107 

The  Juryman's  Duty, DANIEL  WEBSTER,      .     .  107 

The  Murderer's  Self-Betrayal, DANIEL  WEBSTER,      .     .  108 

The  Murderer's  Plan, DANIEL  AVEBSTER,      .     .  109 

The  Bunker  Hill  Monument, DANIEL  WKBSTER,      .     .  110 

England  and  America, J.  C.  CALHOUN,      .     .     .  Ill 

Federal  Government, J.  C.  CALHOUN,      ...  Ill 

The  Roman  System, J.  C.  CALHOUN,      .     .     .  112 

The  Roman  System — Continued, J.  C.  CALHOUN,      .     .     .  113 

Reply  to  the  Charge  of  ^Eschines, DEMOSTHENES,        .     .     .  114 

The  Commonwealth  and  its  Ambassadors,   .     .  DEMOSTHENES,        .     .     .  114 

Religious  Liberty, WILLIAM  GASTON,      .     .  115 

False  Philanthropy, R.  Y.  HAYNE,    ....  116 

South  Carolina  in  the  Revolution,       ....  R.  Y.  HAYNE,    ....  117 

Laws  Concerning  the  Slave  Trade,      ....  JAMES  M.  WAYXE,     .     .  118 

Friendship  with  England, RUFUS  KING,     ....  118 

American  Influence, H.  W.  HILLIARD,        .     .  119 

Hamilton, GOUVERNEUR  MORRIS,   .  120 

On  the  Distribution  Bill, THOMAS  H.  BENTON,        .  121 

To  the  Noblesse  of  Provence, MIRABEAU, 122 

Monomania, DAVID  PAUL  BROWN,      .  123 

Actions  and  Motives, DAVID  PAUL  BROWN,      .  123 

An  Independent  Judiciary, JAMES  A.  BAYARD,     .     .  124 

Switzerland,  an  Example, PATRICK  HENRY,  ...  125 

Amendments  to  the  Constitution, PATRICK  HENRY,  .     .     .  126 

James  II.  and  George  III.    .     .' WILLIAM  H.  DRAYTON,  .  127 

American  Rights, JOSEPH  WARREN,       .     .  128 

The  Southern  Campaign, JOHN  RUTLEDGE,   .     .     .  129 

English  Presumption, JAMES  MADISON,    .     .     .  129 

Faction  and  Tyranny, ALEXANDER  HAMILTON,  130 

The  Achievers  of  our  Liberty, JOHN  HANCOCK,     ...  131 

Inaugural  Address, GEORGE  WASHINGTON,    .  132 

The  Rule  of  American  Conduct, GEORGE  WASHINGTON,    .  133 

The  Appeal  to  Arms, JOHN  DICKINSON,  ...  134 

The  Necessity  of  Independence, SAMUEL  ADAMS,     .     .     .  134 

Call  to  Americans, JOSIAH  QUINCY,  JR.,       .  135 

Address  to  a  Jury, JOSIAH  QUINCY,  JR.,       .  136 

A  Stable  Government  for  America,      ....  BENJAMIN  RUSH,   .     .     .  137 

Washington, HENRY  LEE,      ....  138 

Acknowledgments  to  England, JOHN  RANDOLPH,   .     .     .  139 

The  Injuries  of  England, JOHN  RANDOLPH,  .     .     .  139 

The  Character  of  Lafayette, JOHN  QUINCY  ADA*MS,     .  140 

The  Future  Glory  of  America, DAVID  RAMSAY,     ...  141 

Capital  Punishment, EDWARD  LIVINGSTON,     .  142 

Judges  among  Men, TRISTRAM  SURGES,    .     .  143 

The  Congress  of  1776, WILLIAM  WIRT,      ...  144 

Address  to  a  Jury, DAVID  PAUL  BKOWN,      .  144 

The  Banner  of  Union, FRANKLIN  PIERCE,     .     .•  145 

American  Policy, DE  WITT  CLINTON,      .     .  146 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Value  of  a  Navy, JAMES  A.  BAYARD,    .     .  147 

War  in  Self-Defence, JOHN  RANDOLPH,  .     .     .  148 

The  Excise  System, JOHN  RANDOLPH,  .     .     .  148 

The  Excise  System  Impossible  hi  America,      .  JOHN  RANDOLPH,  .     .     .  149 

American  Valor, LEWIS  CASS,      ....  150 

Barbarous  Warfare, LORD  CHATHAM,     .     .     .  151 

England  and  her  Children, EDMUND  BURKE,    .     .     .  152 

Milton  and  "  The  Age  of  Reason,"      ....  T.  ERSKINE,       ....  152 

The  East  Indian  Government, EDMUND  BURKE,    .     .     .  153 

French  Legitimacy, CHARLES  PHILLIPS,   .     .  154 

Lafayette  in  America, THOMAS  H.  BENTON,        .  155 

The  Ceded  Laftds, JOHN  M.  BERRIEN,     .     .  155 

The  Protective  System, GEORGE  McDuFFiE,  .     .  156 

The  Charter  of  Runnymede, LORD  CHATHAM,    .     .     .  157 

The  French  Revolution, SIR  JAMES  MC!NTOSH,    .  157 

American  Petitions, LORD  CHATHAM,     .     .     .  158 

The  Exile's  Fate, RICHARD  LALOR  SHEIL,  159 

Religious  Charity, RICHARD  LALOR  SHKIL,  160 

Defence  of  John  O'Connell, RICHARD  LALOR  SHEIL,  160 

Iron  Links, RUFUS  CHOATE,      .     .     .  161 

The  Learning  for  a  Judge, RUFUS  CHOATE,      .     .     .  162 

The  Incorruptible  Judge, RUFUS  CHOATE,     .     .     .  162 

States  Protected  by  the  General  Government,  T.  F.  MARSHALL,        .     .163 

Modern  Toleration, T.  F.  MARSHALL,  ...  163 

State  Laws, •     .     .  ALEXANDER  HAMILTON,  164 

The  Constitution  a  Bill  of  Rights,      ....  ALEXANDER  HAMILTON,  164 

The  Power  of  the  Constitution, JAMES  MADISON,         .     .  165 

Eulogy  on  Franklin, ABBE  FAUCHET,     .     .     .  166 

The  American  Motive  to  War, CHARLES  JAMES  Fox,     .  167 

The  Reign  of  Terror, LORD  BROUGHAM,       .     .  167 

Denunciation  of  Lord  Castlereagh,      ....  LORD  BROUGHAM,        .     .  168 

The  Valor  of  the  Irish  Aliens, RICHARD  LALOR  SHEIL,  168 

Retirement  from  the  Senate, HKNRY  CLAY,    ....  170 

The  Deeds  of  General  Taylor, JEFFERSON  DAVIS,     .     .  171 

Constitutional  Responsibility, STEPHEN  A.  DOUGLAS,    .  172 

The  French  War, J.  J.  CRITTENDEN,      .     .  173 

Jewish  Disability, LORD  JOHN  RUSSELL,     .  174 

Aid  to  Hungary,        Louis  KOSSUTH,     ...  175 

The  Limit  of  Intervention, JUDGE  DUER,     ....  176 

The  Cause  of  Hungary, R.  M.  T.  HUNTER,       .     .  178 

Catiline  Denounced, CICERO, 179 

Beneticial  Effects  of  the  War, b.  A.  \\  ASHBURNE,  D.D.,  KSU 

HISTORICAL,  BIOGRAPHICAL,  AND  DESCRIPTIVE. 

History  Properly  Written, LORD  MACAULAY,      .     .  181 

Civil  and  Religious  Liberty, WILLIAM  SMYTH,        .      .  182 

England  and  America, WILLIAM  SMYTH,       .      .  181 

Addison's  Hymns,     .     .      .    ^ W.  M.  THACKERAY,        .  183 

Fielding's  Fame, W.  M.  THACKERAY,        .  183 

John  Locke  and  William  Penn, GEORGE  BANCROFT,        .  184 

Milton  and  Dryden, LOUD  MACAULAY,     .     .  185 

Wonders  of  English  Rule  in  India,   ....  LORD  MAHON,       .     .      .  186 

The  Black  Hole  of  Calcutta, LORD  MAHON,       .      .     .  186 

Macaulay's  Oratory, New  York  Daily  Times,  188 


CONTENTS.  ix 

PAGE 

The  Wounded  After  a  Battle, London  Time*,      .     .      .  188 

Architecture  in  Venice, JOHN  RUSKIN,      .      .      .  189 

The  Execution  of  Audre, Harper's  Moyaz'un-,         .  190 

The  Hospital  at  Sebastopol, London  Times,      .      .      .  191 

Byron  and  Burns, THOMAS  CARLYLE,    .      .  192 

The  Assault  on  the  Malakoff, London  Times,      .      .      .  193 

The  Struggle  in  the  Redan, London  Times,       .      .      .  1'.'3 

Napoleon  and  Josephine, Franer's  Magazine,    .      .  191 

The  Oratory  of  Pitt, LORD  BROUGHAM,      .      .  195 

The  Character  of  Fox, LORD  BROUGHAM,      .      .  19(5 

The  Eloquence  of  Burke, LORD  BROUGHAM,      .      .  190 

Lord  North's  Policy, LORD  BROUGHAM,      .      .  197 

The  Administration  of  Pitt  (Lord  Chatham),  .  LORD  BROUGHAM,      .      .  198 

The  Handwriting  of  Junius, LORD  BROUGHAM,      .      .  198 

The  Oratory  of  Canning, LORD  BROUGHAM,      .      .  199 

Relics  at  Abbotsford, WASHINGTON  IRVING,     .  199 

Machiavelli, LORD  MACAULAY,      .      .  200 

Robespierre, LORD  BROUGHAM,      .      .  201 

The  Court  of  Charles  II., LORD  JOHN  RUSSELL,     .  202 

The  Character  of  James  I., SANFORD,          ....  202 

The  Policy  of  Queen  Elizabeth, LORD  MACAULAY,      .      .  203 

The  Cathedral  at  Rouen, DR.  DURBIN,    ....  204 

Art  in  Antwerp, DR.  DURBIN,    ....  204 

Domestic  Comfort  in  the  Fifteenth  Century,     .  HALLAM, 205 

Tacitus  as  a  Historian, LORD  MACAULAY,     .     .  206 

Monticello, WILLIAM  WIRT,          .      .  207 

Eulogy  on  Calhoun, DANIEL  WEBSTER,     .      .  208 

Murder  of  Thomas  a  Becket, A.THIERRY,    ....  210 

The  Cosmos, BAYARD  TAYLOR,      .     .  212 

La  Valetta  at  Malta, PRESCOTT,        ....  213 

The  Mahometan  Corsair, PRESCOTT,        ....  213 

Dr.  Arnold  at  Rugby, HUGHES, 214 

The  Death  of  Major  Hodson  at  Lucknow,   .     .  HUGHES, 216 

Washington's  Presence, SPARKS,      .....  217 

Washington's  Moral  Character, SPARKS, 218 

The  Fate  of  Andre, C.  J.  BIDDLE,        ...  219 

West  Point, LOSSING, 220 

The  Impossible, ROBERT  DALE  OWEN,     .  221 

Havelock's  Highlanders, W.  BROCK,       ....  223 

The  News  from  Lexington, GEORGE  BANCROFT,        .  223 

Allen's  Capture  of  Ticonderoga, GEORGE  BANCROFT,  .     .  224 

The  Downfall  of  Napoleon, THOMAS  ARNOLD,  D.D  ,  225 

Isabella  of  Spain  and  Elizabeth  of  England,  PRESCOTT,        ....  226 

Venice, G.  S.  HILLARD,     ...  227 

Spring, HAWTHORNE,         .     .      .  228 

Scandinavian  Amazons, H.  WHEATON,        .      .      .  228 

Christmas  in  St.  Peter's, G.  S.  HILLARD,     .      .      .  229 

Washington  at  Germantown, SIDNEY  G.  FISHER,         .  231 

Manhattan  in  the  Olden  Time, WASHINGTON  IRVING,      .  232 

Fashionable  Parties  in  New  Netherlands,    .      .  WASHINGTON  IRVING,      .  233 

Sheridan's  Classical  Powers, ANONYMOUS,    ....  235 

Irving's  Washington, G.  W.  GREENE,     .      .     .  235 

Common  Conversation,        T    .  BULWER, 236 

The  Counsel  of  Queen  Caroline, DR.  DORAN,     ....  23S 


X  CONTENTS. 

RELIGIOUS,  MORAL,  AND  DIDACTIC. 

PAGK 

The  Voice  of  the  Preacher, JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS,     .  239 

The  Queen  of  England  at  her  Accession,     .     .  SYDNEY  SMITH,     .      .      .  2;J9 

The  Office  of  a  Judge, SYDNEY  SMITH,    .     .     .  240 

The  Abuse  of  Conscience, LAURENCE  STERNE,       .  241 

Reflection, COLERIDGE,      .      •     •     .  242 

Life, ARCHBISHOP  LEIG^HTON,  242 

Suffering  enhances  Virtue, BARROW, 243 

The  Great  Assize, JOHN  WESLEY,     ...  244 

Modern  Infidelity, ROBERT  HALL,      ...  244 

The  Ministry  of  the  Sciences, DR.  STEVENS,       ...  245 

Man  Justified, MARTIN  LUTHER,       .     .  246 

Safety  of  God's  Children, MELANCTHON,       ...  247 

Heavenly  Glory,        A.  CARSON,      ....  247 

The  Few  Chosen, JOHN  BAPTIST  MASSILLON,  248 

The  King's  Power, JOHN  KNOX,    .     .     •     .  249 

The  King's  Power — Continued, JOHN  KNOX,    ....  250 

Moral  Courage, DR.  Bo  A  RDM  AN,         .     .  250 

The  Influence  of  Literature, ALONZO  POTTER,  D.D.,  .  251 

Bishop  White, ALONZO  POTTER,  D.D.,  .  252 

Penn's  Motive, ALONZO  POTTER,  D.D.,  .  252 

Life  is  an  Education, F.  W.  ROBERTSON,     .      .  253 

The  Sophistry  of  Infidels, ROBERT  HALL,     .      .     .  254 

Righteousness  exalteth  a  Nation,       ....  DR.  STEVENS,       .     .     .  254 

The  Glory  of  Christianity, JOHN  McLAURiN,       .      .  256 

The  Hour  and  the  Event  of  All  Time,     .     .     .  HUGH  BLAIR,        .     .      .  256 

The  Expulsive  Power  of  a  New  Affection,  .     .  THOMAS  CHALMERS,       .  257 

The  Voice  of  Scripture, EDWARD  IRVING,       .      .  258 

The  Voice  of  Scripture — Continued,        .     .     .  EDWARD  IRVING,       .     .  259 

David's  Sin, BISHOP  WHITE,    .      .     .  260 

Belief  in  God's  Existence, JONATHAN  MAXEY,  .     .  260 

The  Gospel  for  the  Poor, JOHN  M.  MASON,       .     .  261 

The  Society  of  Heaven, GREGORY  T.  BEDELL,     .  262 

Influence  of  Heavenly  Glimpses,       .     .     .     .  H.  MELVILL,  ....  263 

The  Important  Truth, H.  MELVILL,         .     .      .-263 

Christianity  in  America, .  R.  J.  BRECKENRIDGE,    .  264 

Science  and  Religion, M.  HOPKINS,   ....  265 

Man's  Love  to  God, J.  MCCLINTOCK,  .     .     .  266 

Religionists, F.  D.  HUNTINGTON,    .     .  267 

Duelling, ELIPHALET  NOTT,      .     .  268 

The  Cheerfulness  of  Piety, DR.  DURBIN, 269 

Duty  and  Praise, J.  B.  KERFOOT,    ...  270 

The  Confirmation  of  Faith, BISHOP  WHITE,     ...  271 

The  Beauty  of  Goodness, J.  B.  KERFOOT,    .     .     .  272 

The  Resurrection, BISHOP  MC!LVAINE,       .  273 

The  Purposes  of  Christianity, F.  WAYLAND,       ...  274 

Christian  Motives, GEORGE  F.  PIERCE,        .  275 

Songs  in  the  Night,        C.  H.  SPURGEON,       .     ,  275 

The  Danger  of  Delay, J.  C.  YOUNG,  ....  276 

The  Universal  Empire  of  Death,        .     .     .     .  D.  S.  DOGGETT,    .     .      .  277 

National  Error, T.  P.  AKERS,        ...  278 

The  Great  Price, J.  H.  NEWMAN,    .     .     .278 

The  Millennium, -     ...  ARCHBISHOP  WHATELY,  280 

Patriotism  a  Christian  Virtue,            ....  HUNTINGTON,  ....  281 

Kind  Listeners, F.  W.  FABER,       .     .     .'  2S1 

The  Desire  of  Death .     .  F.  W.  FABER,       .           .  282 


CONTENTS.  xi 

PART   II. 

RECITATIONS    IN  POETHY. 

EPIC,  LYRIC,  AND  DESCRIPTIVE. 

PAGE 

Human  Life, J.  R.  LOWELL,      .     .     .  283 

The  Burial  at  Gettysburg, E.  A.  WASHBURNE,  D.D.,  284 

The  Skies, MARY  E.  LEE,      ...  285 

Westminster  Abbey, THOMAS  MILLER,       .      .  287 

Don  Garzia, ROGERS, 288 

Requiem, JULIA  R.  MCMASTERS,  290 

Address  to  Light, MILTON, 291 

Eternal  Truth, COWPER, 292 

Country  and  Town, COWPER, 293 

The  Bull-Fight, LORD  BYRON,        ...  294 

The  Coliseum, LORD  BYRON,        .     .      .  296 

The  Destiny  of  America, BRYANT, 297 

Religion, YOUNG, 297 

To  the  Past, BRYANT, 298 

Adonais, SHELLEY, 300 

The  Occultation  of  Orion, LONGFELLOW,       .     .      .  301 

The  Builders, LONGFELLOW,        .     .     .  303 

Sand  of  the  Desert  in  an  Hour-glass,     .      .      .  LONGFELLOW,       ...  304 

The  Temptation  of  Christ, MILTON, 305 

The  Minstrel's  Farewell  to  his  Harp,      .     .      .  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,        .  306 

The  Highland  Chase, SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,        .  307 

The  Cloud, SHELLEY,  .     .     .     .     .  308 

Speed  the  Prow,         «...  MONTGOMERY,       .     .      .  311 

The  Field  of  the  World, MONTGOMERY,       .      .     .  312 

An  Incident  at  Ratisbon,         BROWNING,       ....  312 

Ginevra, ROGERS, 314 

The  Four  Eras,         ROGERS, 316 

To-Night, SHELLEY, 317 

Better  Moments,        • N.  P.  WILLIS,       .      .      .  218 

Death  of  General  Harrison, N.  P.  WILLIS,     .     .        .319 

Hymn  to  the  Flowers,         HORACE  SMITH,     .      .     .  320 

The  Mummy, HORACE  SMITH,    .     .     .  322 

Song  of  the  Stars, BRYANT, 324 

Small  Things, CHARLE.S  MACKAY,  .     .  325 

Forgive  and  Forget, CHARLES  SWAIN,        .      .  326 

The  First  Prayer, CHARLES  SWAIN,       .     .  327 

The  Deep, BRAINARD,      ....  327 

The  Old  Man's  Carousal, PAULDING,       ....  328 

Children  of  Light, BERNARD  BARTON,    .     .  329 

The  Fourth  of  July, PIERPONT,        ....  330 

The  True  Glory  of  America,         G.  MELLEN,     .....  331 

The  Suppliant, DEAN  TRENCH,     .     .      .  333 

Weary  of  Life, BOKER, 334 

The  Celestial  Army, T.  B.  READ,    ....  335 

Napoleon's  Exile, MRS.  BROWNING,        .      .  •  336 

Southern  Autumn, W.  H.  TIMROD,     .      .     .  337 

Evening  in  Winter,         T.  B.  READ,    ....  338 


xii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

To  Time,  "  The  Old  Traveller," W.  II.  TIMROD,     .     .     .  338 

The  Mystery  of  Song, ANONYMOUS,    ....  339 

The  Banner  of  the  Cross, ANONYMOUS,    ....  340 

Ode  to  Duty, WORDSWORTH,      ...  342 

I  give  my  Soldier  Boy  a  Blade, MAGINN, 343 

The  Influence  of  Fame, JOANNA  BAILLIE,      .     .  344 

The  Last  Man, CAMPBELL,       ....  344 

Napoleon's  Final  Return, MRS.  BROWNING,       .      .  345 

My  Father, H.  R.  JACKSON,    ...  346 

The  Closing  Year, GEORGE  D   PRENTICK,    .  349 

The  Village  Schoolmaster, GOLDSMITH,     ....  350 

The  Traveller's  Eyrie, GOLDSMITH,     ....  351 

Washington, ELIZA  COOK,    ....  351 

The  Pauper's  Death-Bed, MRS.  SOUTHKY,     .     .      .  353 

The  Settler, A.  B.  STREET,       ...  354 

The  Coral  Grove, PERCIVAL,       ....  355 

Apostrophe  to  the  Sun,  ........  PERCIVAL,       ....  356 

"  Let  there  be  Light !" MRS.  F.  H.  COOKE,    .     .  357 

All's  for  the  Best, M.  F.  TUPPER,     ...  358 

Echo  and  Silence, SIR  EGERTON  BRYDGES,  359 

The  Four-Leaved  Shamrock, LOVER,        359 

The  Blest  of  Earth, J.  GILBORNE  LYONS,       .  360 

The  Homes  of  England, MRS.  HEMANS,     .     .     .  360 

The  Magnetic  Telegraph, J.  GILBORNE  LYONS,       .  362 

Matin  Bells, A.  C.  COXE,     ....  362 

Light, W.  P.  PALMER,    ...  364 

The  Worship  of  Nature, WHITTIER,       ....  305 

Fingal  at  Carric-Thura, .     .  OSSIAN, 366 

Forgiveness, •     .     .     .  ANONYMOUS,    ....  36S 

Sonnet,       .     .' DEAN  TIU.NCH,     .     .     .  369 

The  Execution, BARIIAM, 370 

The  British  Bow, BISHOP  HF.BER,    ...  371 

Morning, KEBLE, 372 

Evening, KEBLE, 373 

The  Haunted  Palace, E.  A.  POE,        ....  375 

Stand  like  an  Anvil, BISHOP  DOANE,    .      .      .  376 

Life  in  the  Autumn  Woods, P.  PENDLKTON  COOKE,   .  377 

Night  Study, DR.  BETHUNE,      .     .     .  379 

Columbus, B.  SIMMONS,     ....  380 

Address  to  the  Sun, OssiAN, 382 

The  Power  of  Poetry, HOLMES, 383 

The  Sleep, MRS.  BROWNING,       .     .  383 

The  Seraph  and  Poet, MRS.  BROWNING,       .     .  385 

Milton  on  his  Blindness, ELIZABETH  LLOYD,   .     .  385 

The  Live-Oak, H.  R.  JACKSON,    ...  387 

The  Famine, LONGFELLOW,       .     .     .  388 

Heaven's  Sunrise  to  Earthly  Blindness,       .      .  MRS.  BROWNING,        .     .  390 

NATIONAL  ODES  AND  BATTLE-PIECES. 

National  Songs, ANONYMOUS,       ....  391 

The  American  Flag, JOSEPH  ROOM  AN. DRAKE,  391 

The'Star-Spangled  Banner, FRANCIS  SCOTT  KEY,      .  393 

The  Charge  at  Waterloo, SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,   .     .  394 

The  Battle  March, GERALD  MASSEY,       .     .  395 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

PAGE 

Laissez  Aller ! FRANKLIN  LUSHINGTON,  397 

My  Fatherland, KCERNER, 398 

The  Good  News  from  Ghent  to  Aix,    ....  ROBERT  BROWNING,    .     .  399 

The  Happy  Warrior, WORDSWORTH,  ....  400 

The  German's  Native  Land, UHLAND,        ...     .     .     .  401 

Gustavus's  Battle-Song, ALTENBURG,      ....  402 

The  Song  of  the  Sea-King, ANONYMOUS,       ....  402 

Ye  Mariners  of  England, CAMPBELL, 403 

Battle  of  the  Baltic, CAMPBELL, 404 

War    Song   of    the    Royal    Edinburgh    Light )  _, 

Dragoons,     ...........}  SlR  WALTER  Sc°TT>   '     '  4°6 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade, ALFRED  TENNYSON,    .     .  407 

Soldier,  Wake  !  the  Day  is  Peeping,   ....  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  .     .  408 

There   came   from   the  Wars    on   a  Jet-Black  )  . 

gteed                                                                      L  ANONYMOUS,      ....  409 

The  Norman  Battle  Song, ANONYMOUS,       ....  410 

The  Battle  of  Ivry, LORD  MACATTLAY,       .     .  411 

Magyar  Hussar  Song, GABRIEL  DOBRENTCI,      .  412 

Song  of  the  Greeks,        CAMPBELL, 413 

War  Song  of  the  Greeks, BARRY  CORNWALL,     .     .  414 

Moorish  Song:  Abdallah's  Battle  Call,    .     .     .  ANONYMOUS,       ....  415 

Hainet  arousing  the  Citizens  of  Granada,     .     .  ANONYMOUS,       ....  416 

Spanish  National  Air, ANONYMOUS,      ....  417 

Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns  at  Bethlehem,  at  1  T 

the  Consecration  of  Pulaski's  Banner,      .     .  }  LONGFELLOW>    •     •     •     -  418 

The  Death-Song  of  Outalissi, CAMPBELL, 419 

The  Tenth  Avatar, CAMPBELL, 420 

Waterloo, LORD  BYRON,    ....  421 

Hugo  before  his  Father, LORD  BYRON,     ....  422 

Grongar  Hill, JOHN  DYER,       ....  423 

The  Death  of  the  Brave, WILLIAM  COLLINS,     .     .  424 

Flodden  Field, D.  M.  Mom,      ....  425 

The  Battle  of  Buena  Vista, ALBERT  PIKE,        .     .  ^.  426 

The  Battle  of  Cerro  Gordo, ANONYMOUS,      ....  427 

"  Bois  Ton  Sang,  Beaumanoir," MRS.  OSGOOD,    ....  428 

The  Lamentation  of  Don  Roderick,    ....  J.  G.  LOCKHART,    .     .     .  429 

The  Lord  of  Butrago, J.  G.  LOCKHART,   .     .     .  430 

The  Cavaliers'  March  to  London, LORD  MACAULAY,       .     .  431 

The  Combat  of  Henninius  and  Mamilius,    .     .  LORD  MACAULAY,       .     .  433 

Attila  on  the  Battle-Field  of  Chalons,      .     .     .  W.  HERBERT,    ....  434 

The  Bended  Bow, MRS.  HEMANS,       .     .     .  435 

The  Lyre  and  Sword, GEORGE  LUNT,       .     .     .  436 

The  Cavalier's  Song, WM.  MOTHERWELL,    .     .  437 

Rio  Bravo.     A  Mexican  Lament, C.  F.  HOFFMAN,     .     .     .  438 

The  Origin  of  the  Marseillaise, HOLMES,        439 

"  Qtii  Vive  !" HOLMKS,        439 

England's  Dead, MRS.  HEMANS,       ...  440 

The  Death  of  General  Worth, G.  W.  CUTTER,  ....  442 

Balaklava, DEAN  TRENCH,       ...  443 

'H  TAN,  'H  'EHI  TAN,        DEAN  TRENCH,        .         .  444 

Monterey, C.  F.  HOFFMAN,     ...  444 

The  Brigade  of  Fontenoy, BARTHOLOMEW  BOWLING,  445 

The  Grasp  of  the  Dead, L.  E.  LANDON,        ...  447 

Image  of  War,     . LORD  BYRON,                   .  448 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

WIT  AND  HUMOR,  IN  VERSE. 

PARE 

The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous, HOLMES,        449 

Nux  Postcrenatica, HOLMES,        450 

American  Genius, PIERPONT, 452 

Fashion, SAXE,        453 

No !     .     . THOMAS  HOOD,       .     .     .  454 

The  Donkey  and  his  Panniers, THOMAS  MOORE,     .     .     .  454 

Cardinal  Wolsey, ANONYMOUS,       ....  450 

School  and  School-Fellows, PRAED, 457 

The  Rush  of  the  Train, ANONYMOUS,       ....  459 

Saying  not  Meaning, W.  B.  WAKE,     ....  460 

An  Echo, ANONYMOUS,       ....  462 

On  Factotum  Ned, THOMAS  MOORE,    .     .     .  462 

The  Lobsters, Punch, 464 

The  Bandit's  Fate, Punch, 464 

Boys, SAXE,        465 

The  Railway  Traveller's  Farewell,       ....      Punch, .466 

The  Rich  Man  and  the  Poor  Man,       ....  KHEMNITZER,    ....  467 

The  Vicar, PRAED, 468 

The  March  to  Moscow, ROBERT  SOUTHED,      .     .  470 

The  Chameleon, MERRICK,       .         ...  474 

Dermot  O'Dowd,        ,           LOVER, 476 

My  only  Client,    .     .    • Punch, 477 

The  Last  Stanzas  of  Yankee  Doodle,       .     .     .      Punch, 479 

The  Song  of  Hiawatha, Punch, 480 

Rhyme  of  the  Rail, SAXE,        482 

A  Serenade, THOMAS  HOOD,       .     .     .  484 

Morning  Meditations, THOMAS  HOOD,       .     .     .  485 

The  Season, THOMAS  HOOD,       .     .     .  486 

Spring, THOMAS  HOOD,       .     .     .  487 

The  Music  Grinders, HOLMES,        488 

A  Parental  Ode  to  my  Son,  aged  three  years  )  _ 

and  five  months,    .     .     ...     .     .     .     .     .}  THOMAS  HOOD,       ...  491 

Provincial  Speech, HOLMES,        492 

A  Rhymed  Lesson, HOLMES, 493 


PART   III. 
THE    DRAMA. 

SOLILOQUIES  AND  MONOLOGUES. 

Manfred.     The  Invocation, LORD  BYRON,  ....  495 

Macbeth's  Soliloquy, SHAKSPEARE,  ....  496 

Beleses'  Address  to  the  Sun, LORD  BYRON,  ....  496 

The  Two  Kings, SHAKSPEARE,  ....  497 

Falstaff's  Soldiers, SHAKSPEARK,  ....  498 

Polonius  to  Laertes, SHAKSPEARE,  ....  499 

The  Lady  in  Coinus, MILTON, 500 

The  Student's  Reverie, LONGFELLOW,  ....  500 

Jaques'  Fool, SHAKSPEARE,  ....  502 

Oassius  to  Brutus, SHAKSPEARE,  ....  502 


CONTENTS.  XV 

PAGE 

Earth's  Regeneration, BAILEY, 503 

Norman's  Description  to  Violet, BULWER, 504 

Toll's  Refusal  of  Homage  to  Gesler's  Cap,  .     .  KNOWLICS, 505 

Richelieu's  Soliloquy, .     .  BULWER, 506 

Music  by  Moonlight, SHAKSPEARE,    ....  507 

Bolingbroke's  Triumph, SHAKSPEARE,    ....  508 

Prologue  to  Addison's  Cato,        POPE, 510 

Nothing  to  Wear, W.  A.  BUTLER,       .     .     .  512 

DIALOGUES  AND  COLLOQUIES. 

The  Cardinal's  Exculpation, BULWER, 513 

The  Seaman's  Pride, BULWER, 515 

Conscience  Triumphant, G.  LILLO, 517 

An  Incorruptible  Farmer, THOMAS  MORTON,        .     .  520 

Justice  to  the  Lowly, THOMAS  MORGAN,      .     .  522 

The  Spanish  Student, LONGFELLOW,    ....  524 

The  Trial  of  Anne  Boleyn, BOKER,     ..;...  527 

Literary  Stratagem, S.  FOOTE, 529 

The  Hypocrite  Unmasked,     .......  GOLDSMITH,        ....  532 

Jones  at  the  Barber's  Shop, Punch, 535 

Scene  from  Bombastes  Furioso, ANONYMOUS,       ....  536 

Conjugal  Quarrels, li.  B.  SHERIDAN,    .     .     .  539 

Awkward  Servants, GOLDSMITH,    .     .         .     .  541 

The  Enthusiasm  of  the  Huntress, D.  L,  BOURCICAULT,        .  543 

Family  Obstinacy, .  SHERIDAN, 545 

Scene  from  Pizarro,       .........  KOTZEBUE, 548 

The  Country  Squire, CHARLES  DANCE,       .     .  550 

The  Serenade, LONGFELLOW,    ....  554 

The  Murder  of  Clytus, NATHANIEL  LEE,  .     .     .  556 

Caudle  and  Mrs.  Caudle, E.  STIRLING,      .     ,     .     .  560 

The  Quarrel  Adjusted, SHERIDAN, 562 

The  Death  of  Cardinal  Beaufort, SHAKSPEARE,    ....  565 

King  Lear's  returning  Sanity, SHAKSPEARE,    ....  566 

The  Enlistment, GEORGE  FARQUHAR,        .  569 

Consultation  of  Physicians  in  Paris,  ....  MOLIERE, 570 


NAMES  OF  AUTHORS. 


ADAMS,  JOHN  QTJINCY,  27, 33, 34, 140, 239 

ADAMS,  SAMUEL,  134. 

AKERS,  T.  P.,  278. 

ALTENBURG,  402. 

ANONYMOUS,  93,  235,  339,  340,  368,  391, 

402,  409,  410,  415,  416,  417,  427,  456 

459,  462. 
ARNOLD,  THOMAS,  D.D.,  225. 

BACON,  LORD,  41,  42. 

BAILEY,  503. 

BAILLIE,  JOANNA,  344. 

BANCROFT,  GEORGE,  184,  223,  224. 

BARHAM,  370. 

BARROW,  243. 

BARTON,  BERNARD,  329. 

BAUTAIN,  ABBE,  28,  32-. 

BAYARD,  JAMES  A.,  124,  147. 

BEDELL,  GREGORY  T.,  262. 

BECKFOKD,  WILLIAM,  66. 

BENTON,  THOMAS  H.,  121,  155. 

BERRIBN,  J.  M.,  155. 

BETHUNE,  DR.  GEORGE  W.,  379. 

BIDDLE,  CHARLES  J.,  219. 

BLAIR,  HUGH,  256. 

BOARDMAN,  DR.  HENRY  A.,  57,  250. 

BOKER,  GEORGE  H.,  334,  527. 

BONAPARTE,  NAPOLEON,  94,  95. 

BOUKCICAULT,  DION  L.,  543. 

BRAINARD,  327. 

BRECKEMRIDGE,  ROBERT  J.,  264. 

BROCK,  W.,  223. 

BROUGHAM,  LORD,  195,  196,  197,   198 

199,  201,  167,  168. 
BROWN,  DAVID  PAUL,  123.  144. 
BROWNING,  MRS.,  312,  336,  345,  383, 
BROWNING,  ROBT.,  399.  [385,  390. 

BRYANT,  WILLIAM  C.,  297,  298,  324. 
BRYDGES,  SIR  EGERTON,  359. 
BULWER,   EDWARD  LYTTON,   236,   504, 

506,  513,  515. 
BURGES,  TRISTRAM,  143. 
BURKE,  EDMUND,  152,  153. 
BUTLER,  W.  A.,  512. 
BYRON,  LORD,  294,  296,  421,  422,  423, 

448,  495,  496. 


CALHOUN,  JOHN  C.,  Ill,  112,  113. 
CAMPBELL,  THOMAS,  344,  403,  404,  413, 

419,  420. 

CARLYLE,  THOMAS,  37,  38,  39,  40,  192. 
CARSON,  A.,  247. 
CASS,  LEWIS,  150. 
CHALMERS,  THOMAS,  257. 
CHANNING,  W.  E.,  84,  101,  102. 
CHATEAUBRIAND,  63. 
CHATHAM,  LORD,  151.  157,  158. 
CHOATE,  RIJFUS,  161,  162. 
CICERO,  179. 

CLAY,  HENRY,  103,  104,  105,  107,  170. 
CLINTON,  DE  WITT,  146. 
COLERIDGE,  SAMUEL  T.,  242 
COLLINS,  WILLIAM,  424. 
COLTON,  CALVIN,  46. 
COLWELL,  STEPHEN,  56. 
COOKE,  ELIZA,  351. 
COOKE,  Mus.  F.  H.,  357. 
COOKE,  P.  PENDLETON,  377. 
CORNWALL,  BARRY,  414. 
COWPER,  WILLIAM,  292,  293. 
COXE,  A.  C..  362. 
CRITTENDEN,  JOHN  J.,  173. 
CUTTER,  G.  W.,  442. 

DANCE,  CHARLES,  550. 
DAVIS,  JEFFERSON,  171. 
DEMOSTHENES,  114. 
DICKINSON,  JOHN,  134. 
DOANE,  BISHOP,  37(i. 
DOBRENTCI,  GABRIEL,  412. 
DOGGETT,  D.  S.,  277. 
DORAN,  DR.,  238. 
DOUGLAS,  STEPHEN  A.,  172. 
BOWLING,  BARTHOLOMEW,  445. 
DRAKE.  JAMES  RODMAN,  391. 
DRAYTON,  WILLIAM  H.,  127. 
DUER,  JUDGE,  176. 
DUBBIN,  DR.,  80,  204,  269. 
DYER,  JOHN,  423. 

ELLIOTT,  BISHOP,  50. 
EIISKINE,  THOMAS,  152. 
EVERETT,  EDWARD,  28,  48,  49,  55. 

(xvi) 


NAME3  OF  AUTHORS. 


xvu 


FABER,  F.  W.,  281,  282. 

FAKQUHAR,   GEORGE,   569. 

FAUCHET,  ABBE,  166. 
FISHER,  SIDNEY  G.,  231. 
FOOTS,  SAMUEL,  529. 
Fox,  CHARLES  JAMES,  167. 
FKANCIS,  DR.  J.  W.,  70. 
ERASER'S  MAGAZINE,  194. 

GASTON,  WILLIAM,  115. 

GILPIN,  HENRY  D.,  74. 

GOLDSMITH,  OLIVER,  350,  351,  532,  541, 

GREENE,  G.  W.,  235. 

GUIZOT,  77. 

GUYOT,  ARNOLD,  64. 

HALL,  ROBERT,  244,  254. 

HALLAM,  205. 

HAMILTON,  ALEXANDER,  130,  1.64. 

HANCOCK,  JOHN.  131. 

HARPER'S  MAGAZINE,  190. 

HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL,  228. 

HAYNE,  ROBERT  Y.,  116,  117. 

II  EBB  it,  BISHOP,  371. 

HEMANS,  F.  D.,  360,  435,  440. 

HENRY,  PATRICK,  125,  126. 

HERBERT,  W.,  434. 

HILLARD,  GEORGE  S..  227,  229. 

MILLIARD,  H.  W.,  119. 

HOOD,  THOMAS,  454,  484,  485,  486,  487, 

491. 

HOFFMAN,  CHARLES  F.,  438,  444. 
HOLMES,  OLIVER  W.,  383,  449,  450,  488, 

492,  493,  439. 
HOPKINS,  M.,  265. 
HUGHES,  214,  216. 
HUGO,  VICTOR,  47. 
HUNT,  LEIGH,  61. 
HUNTER,  R.  M.  T.,  178. 
HUNTINGTON,  F.  D.,  267,  281. 

« 

INGERSOLL,  JOSEPH  R.,  31,  32. 

IRVING,  EDWARD,  258,  259. 

IRVING,  WASHINGTON,^,  199,  232,  233. 

JACKSON.  II.  R.,  346,  387. 
JOHNSON,  DR.  SAMUEL,  44,  45. 

KEBLE,  JOHN,  372,  373. 

KERPOOT,  J.  B.,  270,  272. 

KEY,  FRANCIS  SCOTT,  393. 

KHEMNITZER,  467. 

KING,  MITCHELL,  29. 

KING,  RUKUS.  118. 

KNOWLKS.  JAMES  SHERIDAN,  505. 

KNOX,  JOHN.  249,  250. 

KCERNER,  398. 

KOSSUTH,  Louis,  175. 

KOTZEBUE,  548. 


LANDON,  L.  E.,  447. 
LEE,  HENRY,  138. 

2* 


B 


LEE,  MARY  E.,  285. 
LEE,  NATHANIEL,  556. 
LEIGHTON.  ARCHBISHOP,  242. 
LILLO,  G.,  517. 
LIVINGSTON,  EDWARD,  142. 
LLOYD,  ELIZABETH,  385. 
LOCKHART,  J.  G.,  429,  430. 
LONDON  TIMES,  188,  191,  193. 
LONGFELLOW,  HENRY  W.,  301,  303,  388, 

418,  500,  524,  554. 
LOSSING,  B.  J.,  220. 
LOVER,  SAMUEL,  359,  476. 
LOWELL,  J.  R.,  283. 
LUNT,  GEORGE,  436. 
LrsniNGTON,  FRANKLIN,  397. 
LUTHER.  MARTIN,  246. 
LYONS,  J.  GILBORNE,  360,  362. 

MACAULAY,  LORD,  35,  36,  181,  185,  200, 

203,  206,  411,  431,  432. 
MACKAY,  CHALES.  325. 
MADISON,  JAMES,  129,  165. 
MAGINN,  WILLIAM,  343. 
MAHON,  LORD,  lSt>. 
MARSH,  GEORGE  P.,  61. 
MARSHALL,  THOMAS  F.,  163. 
MASON.  JOHN  M.,  261. 
MASSEY,  GERALD,  395. 
MASSILLON,  JOHN  BAPTIST,  248. 
MAXEY,  JONATHAN,  260. 

McCLINTOCK.  J.,  266. 

McDuFFiE.  GEORGE,  156. 
MCILVAINE,  BISHOP,  273. 
MclNTosti,  SIR  JAMES,  157. 
MCLAURIN,  JOHN,  256. 
McMASTEits,  JULIA  R.,  290. 
McMicHAEL,  MORTON,  49. 
MELANCTHON,  247 
MKI.LEN,  G.,  331. 
MELVILL,  II.,  263. 
MEREDITH,  WILLIAM  M.,  92. 
MERRICK,  474. 
MILLER,  THOMAS,  287. 
MILTON,  JOHN,  60,  291,305,  500. 
MIRABEAU,  122. 
MITCHEL,  0.  M.,  71,  73,  85. 
Mom,  D.  M.,  425. 
Mo  LI  ERE,  570. 
MONTESQUIEU,  95. 
MONTGOMERY,  W.  W.,  311,  312. 
MOORE,  THOMAS,  462,  454. 
MORGAN,  THOMAS,  522. 
MORRIS,  GOUVERNEUR,  120. 
MORTON,  THOMAS,  520. 

MOTHERWELL,   WlLLIAM,  437. 

NEWMAN,  J.  II.,  278. 

NEW  YORK  DAILY  TIMES,  188. 

NOTT,  ELIPHALET,  268. 

OWEN,  J.  B.,  100. 

OWEN,  ROBERT  DALE,  221. 


XV1H 


NAMES  OF  AUTHORS. 


OSGOOD,  MRS.  F.  S.,  428. 
OSSIAN,  366,  382. 

PALMER,  W.  P.,  364. 
PAULDING,  JAMES  K.,  328. 
PERCIVAL,  JAMES  G.,  355,  356. 
PHILLIPS,  CHARLES,  96,  154. 
PIERCE,  FRANKLIN,  145. 
PIERCE,  GEORGE  F.,  275. 
PIERPONT,  JOHN,  330,  452. 
PIKE,  ALBERT,  426. 
POE,  EDGAR  A.,  375. 
POINSETT,  JOEL  R.,  71. 
POPE,  ALEXANDER,  510. 
POTTER,  ALONZO,  251,  252. 
PRABD,  W.  M.,  457,  468. 
PRENTICE,  GEORGE  D.,  349. 
PRENTISS,  S.  S.,  78,  79. 
PRESCOTT,  WILLIAM  H.,  213,  226. 
PROUT,  WILLIAM,  81. 
PUNCH,  464,  466,  477,  479,  480,  535. 

QUINCY,  JOSIAH,  JR.,  135,  136. 

RAMSAY,  DAVID,  141. 
RANDOLPH,  JOHN,  139,  148,  149. 
READ,  THOMAS  B.,  335,  338. 
REED,  HENRY,  51,  66,  67. 
READ,  WILLIAM  GEORGE,  53. 
RIVES,  WILLIAM  C.,  57. 
ROBERTSON,  I   W..  253. 
ROGERS,  SAMUEL,  314,  316,  288. 
RUSH,  BENJAMIN,  137. 
RUSKIN,  JOHN,  51,  189. 
RUSSELL,  LORD  JOHN,  99,  174,  202. 
RUTLEDGE,  JOHN,  129; 

SANFORD,  202. 

SAXE,  JOHN  G.,  453,  465,  482. 

SCOTT,  SIR  WALTER,  82,  306,  307,  394, 

406.  408. 

SERGEANT,  JOHN,  88. 
SHAKSPEARE,  WILLIAM,  496,  497,  498, 

499,  502,  503,  507,  508,  565,  566. 
SHEIL,  RICHARD  LALOR,  159,  160,  168. 
SHELLEY,  PERCY  B.,  300,  308,  317. 
SHERIDAN,  R.  B.,  539,  545,  562. 
SIMMONS,  B.,  380. 
SMITH,  HORACE,  320,  322. 
SMITH,  SYDNEY,  90,  91,  239,  240. 


SMYTH,  WILLIAM,  182. 

SOUTH EY,  MRS.,  353. 

SOUTHEY,  ROBERT,  470. 

SPARKS,  JARED,  217,218. 

SPURGKON,  CHARLES  H.,  275. 

STERNE,  LAURENCE,  241. 

STEVENS,  DR.  WILLIAM  B.,  45,  245,  254, 

STIRLING.  E.,  560. 

STOKY,  DH.  JOSEPH,  58,  59. 

STREET,  A.  B.,  354. 

SWAIN,  CHARLES,  326,  327. 

TAYLOR.  BAYARD,  212. 
TENNYSON,  ALKRED,  407. 
THACKARAY,  W.  M.,  183. 
THIERRY,  AUGUSTIN,  76,  86,  210. 
THUCYDIDES,  69. 
TIMROD,  W.  H.,  337,  338. 
TRENCH,  DEAN,  333,  369,  443,  444. 
TUPPER,  MARTIN  F.,  358. 
TYLER,  JOHN,  97,  98. 

UHLAND,  401. 

VERPLASCK,  OULIAN  C.,  83,  88. 

WAKE.  W.  B..  4fiO. 
WALKER.  JAMKS,  D.D.,  52. 
WALLACE,  HORACE  BINNEY,  63. 
WARREN,  JOSEPH,  128. 
WASHBURNE,  E.  A.,  D.D.,  180,  2*1. 
WASHINGTON,  GEORGE,  132,  133. 
WAYLAND,  FRANCIS,  274. 
WAYNE,  JAMES  M.,  118. 
WEBSTER,  DANIEL,  30,  55,  107,  108,  109, 

110,  208. 

WESLEY.  JOHN,  244. 
WHATELY,  ARCHBISHOP,  280. 
WHEATON,  H.,  228. 
WHITE.  BISHOP,  260,  271. 
WnfiTiER,  J.  G.,  365. 
WIELAND,  43. 

WINTHROP,  ROBERT  C.,  54,  69. 
WILLIS.  N.  P.  318.  319. 
WIRT,  WILLIAM,  207, 144. 
WISEMAN,  CARDINAL,  75,  89. 
WORDSWORTH,  W.,  342. 

YOUNG,  EDWARD,  297. 
YOUNG,  J.  C.,  276. 


INTRODUCTION. 


IT  is  not  the  intention  of  the  author,  to  do  more,  in  this  brief 
introduction,  than  to  offer  a  few  practical  remarks  on  the  subject  of 
Elocution,  and  to  give  a  few  directions  to  students,  to  guide  them  in 
the  choice  and  declamation  of  the  pieces  contained  in  this  volume. 

Within"  the  space  allotted  to  such  an  introduction,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  present  a  system  of  elocution,  or  even  a  concise  set  of 
rules  to  compass  the  whole  subject.  This  is  the  duty  and  province 
of  the  professed  elocutionist ;  and  it  is  hoped  this  book  may  fall 
into  the  hands  of  many  such,  in  order  that  it  may  meet  with 
proper  illustration  and  use.  Such  instructors  fcgree,  however,  in 
asserting  and  in  teaching,  that  nature  is  the  basis  of  true  elocution, 
and  that  she  only  needs  the  guiding  and  controlling  hand  of  art  to 
mature  her  powers.  And  here  let  it  be  observed,  that,  as  good 
habits  and  gentle  manners  in  life  are  obtained  by  long  culture, 
beginning  in  our  earliest  youth,  so  elocution,  which  is  the  appli- 
cation of  good  manners  to  the  delivery  of  discourse,  should  be 
commenced  early  in  life,  and  made  the  subject  of  constant  practice 
in  schools  and  institutions  of  learning. 

I.  The  first  direction  offered  to  the  student  is,  to  select  his  piece 
according  to  a  fair  estimate  of  his  own  powers.  Do  not  attempt 
a  difficult  piece  at  first;  begin  with  the  simplest,  and  pass  gradually 
to  those  which  demand  more  thought,  action,  and  culture. 

When  chosen,  let  the  piece  be  read  with  great  care,  before  the 
effort  is  made  to  memorize  it.  Put  yourself,  as  far  as  possible, 
into  the  position  of  the  orator  or  author,  and  attain  to  the  spirit 
which  animated  him.  By  this  means  you  find  the  natural  emphasis, 
that  which  the  thought  requires,  and  the  first  great  lesson  which  the 
declamation  was  designed  to  teach  is  already  learned.  With  many 

(xix) 


xx  INTRODUCTION. 

students  the  first  step  is  to  learn,  parrot-like,  the  words  of  the  speech, 
with  as  little  regard  to  its  meaning  as  though  it  had  none,  leaving 
the  understanding  and  due  expression  of  it  for  after  consideration. 
This  is  inverting  the  true  order,  and  makes  it  difficult  to  invest  the 
unintelligible  words  with  their  real  meaning  afterwards. 

II.  It  seems  almost  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  next  important  step 
is  to  learn  it  thoroughly.    But  this  is  no  truism.    Leaving  out  of  the 
account  those  who  break  down,  when  called  upon  the  platform,  in 
the  middle  of  the  speech,  how  many  there  are  who  betray  painfully 
to  the  audience,  by  their  lack-lustre  eye,  and  hesitating  manner, 
that   their  thoughts    are    not    addressed    to    them,   but  are   busy 
drawing  up  from  the  wells  of  memory  something  which  needs  the 
constant  effort,  and  is  resistant  of  it  at  the  end  of  every  period. 
The  appearance  of  this  should  be  avoided,  by  so  thorough  a  memo- 
rizing as  to  make  the  matter  of  the  speech  your  own. 

It  has  been  said,  put  yourself  into  the  orator's  place :  By  this  is 
meant  only  to  think  and  feel  as  he  must  have  done ;  and  then  to 
render  his  thought  yourself,  not  as  he  rendered  it,  but  as  it  ought 
to  be  rendered.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  many  a  school-boy  does 
more  oratorical  justice  to  Burke  or  Macaulay  than  those  speakers 
did  to  themselves. 

III.  Having  thoroughly  prepared,  and  intelligently  appreciated 
the  piece,  the  next  and  the  true  objective  part  of  the  elocution,  is 
its  delivery.    In  this  comprehensive  term  are  included  the  manage- 
ment of  the  voice;  the  use  of  the  hands,  the  eyes,  and  the  person, 
all  which  are  included  in  the  wprd  gesture. 

Of  the  Voice. — The  general  discussion  of  this  subject  is  based 
upon  a  division  of  voice  according  to  its  quality  and  its  power.  By 
quality  is  meant  the  character  of  the  voice  itself — as  smooth  or 
rough,  as  harsh  or  melodious,  as  guttural  or  nasal.  By  power  is 
meant  its  ability  to  give  greater  or  less  volume  of  sound,  as  loud  or 
soft.  Little  need  be  said  of  the  quality  in  this  connection;  by 
constant  practice  and  training  much  may  be  done  to  correct  the 
unpleasant  characteristics — to  make  a  harsh  voice  smooth,  and  a 
rough  one  melodious. 

In  speaking  of  the  power  of  the  voice,  it  is  observed  that  it  is 
of  great  importance  to  give  a  sufficient  volume  of  voice  to  fill  the 
hall  in  which  the  declamation  is  made,  to  be  heard  by  the  audience, 
without  requiring  an  intensity  of  listening  attention,  as  where  the 
sound  is  barely  loud  enough  to  £>e  heard  with  eifort. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxi 

Articulation,  or  Enunciation. — By  articulation  is  meant  the 
clear  utterance  of  every  part  of  each  word,  so  that  if  the  sound  be 
heard,  the  word  will  be  also  heard  and  understood.  This  is  not 
unfrequently  called  clear  enunciation.  Many  persons  have  quite 
enough  volume  of  voice,  but,  by  reason  of  their  want  of  proper 
enunciation,  especially  of  final  consonants,  they  make  a  jumble  of 
sounds  quite  as  indistinct  as  those  which  are  almost  inaudible. 
Sometimes  this  proceeds  from  what  is  called  mouthing :  from 
opening  the  mouth  too  wide  in  speaking,  and  from  a  want  of 
vigor  and  exactness  in  the  use  of  the  lips  and  tongue,  as  in  sound- 
ing p  and  b,  d  and  t,  and  making  the  distinction  between  them 
respectively.  A  clear  enunciation  frequently  makes  a  speaker 
heard  without  much  power  of  voice :  an  adjustment  should  be 
made  between  the  two,  so  as  not  to  exert  the  voice  more  than  is 
evidently  required. 

Another  direction  is  as  to  the  modulation  of  the  voice.  By 
this  something  more  is  meant  than  an  adaptation  of  the  sound  to 
the  character  of  the  thought  in  different  sentences  or  clauses.  As 
a  matter  of  practice  it  is  found  that  some  persons  find  it  very  diffi- 
cult to  get  out  of  a  continued  monotone,  one  dead  level  of  voice, 
like  a  song  all  on  one  note ,  or  with  a  slight  cadence  of  intonation 
which  recurs  at  the  end  of  every  sentence,  or  alternate  sentence, 
until  it  becomes  extremely  painful  to  the  ear,  and  mars  the  thought 
entirely.  Others  begin  on  a  medium  note,  and  in  a  long  paragraph 
find  themselves  falling  lower  and  lower,  until  they  fall  below  the 
compass  of  their  voice  into  an  impracticable  bass.  Others,  still,  with 
fine  voices,  seem  to  lose  control  over  them,  and  they  run  up  and  down 
the  oratorical  gamut  like  the  singular  sounds  of  a  wind  harp. 

It  must  rest  with  professed  elocutionists,  with  copious  vocal 
illustrations,  to  teach  the  proper  modulation  of  the  voice,  as  it 
must  necessarily  vary  with  each  piece  to  be  declaimed. 

In  the  consideration  of  the  voice  are  also  included  the  subjects 
of  accent,  emphasis,  and  inflection,  which  can  only  be  thoroughly 
taught  by  an  elocutionist.  Nature,  however,  which  dictates  our 
emphasis  and  inflection  in  ordinary  conversation,  or  in  the  earnest, 
unaffected  speech  of  the  common  people,  is  the  foundation  of  this 
instruction.  By  accent  is  meant  the  stress  laid  upon  one  or  more 
syllables  of  a  word.  By  emphasis  is  meant  the  increase  of  force 
given  to  a  word  by  a  louder  sound,  or  by  a  pause  upon  it,  to  mark 
it  as  the  principal  word  in  the  sentence.  Sometimes  there  are 


xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

more  emphatic  words  than  one  in  a  sentence,  and  differences  of 
emphasis,  which  should  be  distinctly  marked. 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  too  much  emphasis ;  there  are  certain 
speakers  who  dwell  upon  more  than  half  the  words  in  a  sentence, 
giving  a  sort  of  hammering  and  jerking  sound,  peculiarly  disagree- 
able. It  is  greatly  better  to  have  too  little  than  too  much,  for  in 
the  clear  and  well-enunciated  utterance,  the  hearer  will  supply  his 
own  emphasis;  but  there  is  a  just  medium,  which,  by  marking  the 
few  words  of  decided  importance,  gives  great  force  and  vigor  to  the 
expression. 

By  inflection  is  meant  the  rise  or  fall  of  the  voice  on  a  parti- 
cular word,  to  give  a  certain  effect.  It  is  usual  to  express  inflection 
by  the  grave  and  acute  accent,  thus :  v  and  ' .  Thus,  a  direct 
question  ends  with  the  rising  inflection;  and  the  direct  answer 
usually  with  the  falling  :  "  Where  have  you  ~been''l  I  have  been  in 
the  country""  But  this  is  not  universal.  The  nature  of  the 
question  and  answer,  and  of  the  circumstances,  must  decide  the 
character  of  the  inflection.  A  false  inflection  frequently  alters  the 
meaning  of  a  sentence  entirely ;  delicate  adaptations  and  changes 
of  inflection  give  great  variety  and  interest  to  speech. 

It  is  chiefly  in  poetry  that  young  speakers  are  led  into  false  em- 
phasis and  inflection,  by  reason  of  the  rhythm  and  the  rhyme,  which 
seem  to  demand  a  sort  of  invariableness  of  emphasis,  as  at  the  caesu- 
ral  pauses,  and  of  inflection,  with  the  rhyme.  This  is  wrong;  we 
should  not  neglect  the  rhythm  or  the  recurring  cadence  entirely,  nor 
should  we  be  so  bound  by  it  as  to  spoil  the  connection  and  the  sense. 

IV.  The  next  important  topic  is  gesture,  and  here  the  most 
deplorable  diflidence  often  seizes  the  young  declaimer.  Gesture 
should  speak  to  the  eye  what  the  words  do  to  the  ear,  and  conse- 
quently the  action  of  the  body  must  harmonize  with  the  thought 
which  is  uttered.  Gesture,  in  its  widest  compass,  subsidizes  the 
whole  body  to  give  force  and  expression  to  the  speech.  It  is  not 
the  arms  and  hands  alone  which  the  orator  should  use,  but  he 
should  make  the  head,  the  eye,  the  muscles  of  the  face,  the 
shoulders,  the  chest,  the  attitude,  the  feet,  do  their  important  part 
in  acting  out  and  illustrating  the  spoken  thought.  A  toss  of  the 
head  betrays  indifference ;  a  contracted  brow  denotes  displeasure ; 
a  dilated  eye  tells  of  astonishment;  a  distension  of  the  nostrils 
evinces  alarm;  a  curled  lip  betokens  disdain;  a  compressed  mouth 
indicates  firmness;  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  expresses  doubt;  the 


INTRODUCTION.  xxiii 

chest,  thrown  forward  shows  manliness;  -an  erect  bearing  evinces 
clumsy;  a  well-planted  foot  marks  strength  of  purpose;  and  a 
frequent  change  of  position  betrays  restlessness  and  irresolution. 
These,  in  all  their  possible  varieties  and  combinations,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  arms,  the  great  levers  of  oratory,  should  be  cultivated 
by  the  student  who  would  learn  the  art  of  gesture.  The  errors  to 
be  avoided,  are,  too  much  action,  constrained  action,  inappropriate 
action,  forced  action,  untimely  action ;  and  the  points  to  be  culti- 
vated, are,  graceful  action,  illustrative  action,  variety,  freedom,  and 
naturalness  of  action  :  thus  we  should  judiciously  adapt  the  sign- 
language  of  gesture  to  the  word-language  of  the  lips. 

The  student  cannot  be  too  earnestly  advised,  after  all  that  has 
been  said,  to  cultivate  a  deliberate  and  poised  manner.  Most 
beginners  find  themselves  hurrying  over  the  pieces,  with  a  con- 
stantly increasing  momentum,  which  threatens  destruction  to  all 
understanding  of  the  piece.  This  can  be  avoided  by  deliberation. 

Most  of  what  has  been  said  has  particular  reference  to  the  decla- 
mation of  prose  pieces  really  addressed — as  are  the  efforts  of  the 
rostrum,  the  pulpit,  and  the  bar — to  the  persons  of  the  hearers. 

Poetry,  notwithstanding  its  divorce  from  music,  addresses  itself 
to  the  heart  of  every  reader ;  but  has  an  indefiniteness  of  aim,  and 
an  impersonality,  when  recited  before  an  audience.  The  words  in 
a  certain  sense  are  not  directly  addressed  by  the  speaker  to  the 
audience,  but  cast  forth  like  a  melody  upon  the  air,  and  designed, 
like  music,  to  claim  for  itself,  and  not  him  who  pronounces  it,  the 
meed  of  praise  and  admiration. 

Poetry  requires,  therefore,  a  less  personal,  less  direct  utterance  , 
it  should  be  recited,  and  not  declaimed;  the  general  rules  of 
expression  are,  however,  the  same ;  but  the  tone  of  the  voice  is 
more  nearly  akin  to  music  than  ordinary  speech.  Let  the  prosody 
be  carefully  observed ;  give  every  line  its  proper  part  in  the  melody, 
but  do  not  spoil  the  sense  by  a  sing-song  cadence,  too  commonly 
indulged  in  by  beginners. 

To  the  drama,  the  directions  already  given  refer :  but  there  i$ 
one  important  difference.  In  oratory,  we  immediately  address  and 
are  concerned  about  the  audience  before  us  ;  what  we  say  is  entirely 
for  them  and  to  them ;  the  orator  is  in  the  closest  personal  com- 
munication with  those  before  him;  and  in  poetry,  the  beautiful 
thoughts  uttered  in  musical  speech  are  for  the  behoof  of  the 
hearers;  but  in  the  drama,  by  a  fiction  of  the  play,  each  speaker  is 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

to  act  unconsciously  of  an  audience ;  the  other  speakers  are  his 
audience,  and  he  a  part  of  theirs  :  the  true  aim,  the*n,  in  dialogue, 
should  be  to  act  for  your  fellow  actors,  and  neither  by  look  .or 
innuendo  to  appear  to  be  acting  at  or  to  the  audience.  This  is  the 
secret  of  success ;  and  to  him  who  bears  his  part  in  the  drama  most 
naturally,  supposing  it  to  be  a  real  scene,  is  awarded  the  applause 
and  praise  of  the  audience. 

And  now  let  it  be  observed,  that  all  our  practice  in  declamation 
and  recitation,  as  important  as  it  is,  is  so  because  it  is  preparatory 
to  another  step  of  far  greater  importance  in  the  drama  of  life.  Its 
object  is  to  prepare  the  youth  to  write  and  speak  his  own  speeches, 
and  to  enable  him  to  rise  and  make  extemporaneous  addresses,  in 
his  own  sphere,  upon  topics  of  great  and  manifold  interest.  No 
educated  American,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  should  be  "  unac- 
customed to  public  speaking,"  or  should  be  called  on  "  unex- 
pectedly," when  the  interests  of  his  country,  of  education,  of 
philanthropy,  are  at  stake. 

The  spirit  of  a  free  people  is  the  true  spirit  of  oratory ;  because 
it  is  natural,  fearless,  and  earnest.  American  natural  orators  are 
everywhere  renowned,  and  even  the  Indians,  our  unfortunate  pre- 
decessors in  this  goodly  land,  give  us,  without  the  excellent  culture 
of  the  schools,  matchless  models  of  eloquence,  subsidizing  nature, 
inventing  rhetoric,  and  extorting  our  praise.  This  brings  us  to  the 
point  from  which  we  started,  viz. :  that  nature  is  the  true  source 
of  the  best  oratory,  and  that  art  is  only  its  handmaid  and  adorner. 
The  Latin  poet  knew  the  value  of  this  naturalness  when  he  wrote — 

*  Si  vis  me  flere,  dolendum  est 

Primum  ipsi  tibi;" 

for  that  naturalness  is  the  earnest  of  human  sympathy,  and  true 
sympathy  makes  all  oratory  interesting  and  attractive. 

If  to  this  we  add  that  culture  which,  based  upon  nature  and 
sympathy,  is  only  intended  to  develop  the  powers  of  nature  to  the 
utmost;  to  detract  nothing  from  its  reality,  but  to  give  it  new 
avenues  of  power  and  beauty,  we  shall  do  proper  homage  to  the 
most  expressive  of  the  arts,  at  once  useful  and  aesthetic,  ELOCUTION. 

In  closing  these  introductory  remarks  on  the  subject  of  elocu- 
tion, the  compiler  desires  to  explain  the  divisions  which  he  has 


INTRODUCTION.  xxv 

made  in  classifying  and  arranging  his  selections.     The  classifica- 
tion is  based  upon  general  rhetorical  principles.    It  is  as  follows  : — 
I.  DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE. 
II.  RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY. 
III.  THE  DRAMA. 


I.  DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE. 

Under  the  general  head  of  Declamations  in  Prose  are  included 
extracts  from  all  kinds  of  public  discourse,  as  the  subdivision  will 
show.  The  first  part  of  this  subdivision  is 

1.  Academic  and  Populhr. — In  this   part   are   included  such 
efforts  as  are  found  in  special  orations,  in  seminaries  and  colleges, 
before  literary  societies,  in    addresses  on  great   anniversaries,  in 
speeches  before  public  meetings  on  issues  other  than  political ;  in  a 
word,  this  part  comprises  a  very  varied  selection  from  occasional 
discourses  of  literary  or   popular  interest.     To   these    are  added 
eloquent  extracts  from  certain  written  works  of  the  same  general 
character,  and  specially  adapted  to  be  spoken  to  an  audience. 

2.  Judicial,  Forensic,  and  Parliamentary. — This   part   easily 
explains  itself,  as  containing  extracts  from  the  charges  of  judges 
on  the  bench,  the  speeches  of  lawyers  at  the  bar,  and  addresses  in 
houses  of  legislation,  such  as  the  English  Parliament,  our  own  Con- 
gress, and  our  state  legislatures. 

3.  Historical,  Biographical,  and  Descriptive. — In  this  subdivi- 
sion will  be  found  extracts  from  historical  and  biographical  lectures, 
and  from  written  histories  and  biographies,  with  a  few  descriptive 
sketches  from  books  of  travel  and  cognate  works.     The  custom  so 
prevalent  in  our  day  of  lecturing  in  public  on  such  themes,  offers, 
it  is  evident,  a  new  avenue  for  the  teacher  of  elocution  and  the 
compiler  of  such  books  as  this  volume.     This  subdivision  has  been 
virtually  neglected  in  other  books  of  this  description,  and  has  been 
monopolized  heretofore  by  the  Readers  or  Reading  Class-Books. 

4.  Religious,  Moral,  and  Didactic. — In  most  books  of  extracts 
for  reading  and  speaking,  this  part  is  entirely  neglected,  or  most 
inadequately  supplied.  '  The  .truth   is,  there  is  in  amount  more 
eloquence  and  rhetorical  power  from  the  pulpit  than  from  all  the 
other  sources  of  oratory  combined.     It  has  been  deemed  proper  to 
collect  here  a  fair  representation  of  pulpit  orators,  and  as  varied  as 
possible,  including  numerous  denominations  of  Christians. 

3 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

II.   RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY. 

It  was  unnecessary  under  this  grand  division  to  designate  many 
varieties.  They  are  all  included  under  three  heads,  for  the  sake 
of  convenience  of  reference. 

1.  Epic,  Lyric,  and  Descriptive. — This  is  a  large   and  varied 
department,  in  which  will  be  found  many  new  pieces,  unhackneyed 
by  that  constant  repetition  which  has  robbed  some  of  the  finest 
English  pieces  of  their  original  charm. 

2.  National  Odes  and  Battle  Pieces. — This  subdivision  of  stirring 
and  patriotic  selections,  gives  some  idea  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the 

human  heart  in  all  countries  when  called  out  to  defend  its  father- 

• 

land.    The  author  feels  sure  that  it  will  be  generally  regarded  as  an 
interesting  and  distinguishing  feature  of  this  book. 

3.  Wit   and   Humor   in    Verse. — Under   this   title   have   been 
grouped  many  entirely  new  pieces,  containing  unforced  wit  and 
true  humor.     With  two  or  three  exceptions,  the  author  has  aimed 
to  present  what  the  student  will  not  find  in  similar  works. 

III.   THE  DRAMA. 

Although  the  Drama  must  be  written  in  prose  or  poetry,  and 
might  fairly  come  under  one  of  the  two  principal  heads  already 
mentioned  in  a  rhetorical  arrangement,  for  convenience  and  dis- 
tinction it  has  been  classified  as  separate  from  either.  It  has  also 
two  subdivisions. 

1.  Soliloquies  and  Monologues. — All  the  best  dramas  abound  in 
passages  of  this  nature,  which,  when  extracted,  make  excellent 
separate  speeches;  but  which,  in  such  portion- of  the  drama  itself 
as  could  be  placed  in  a  work  of  this  compass,  would  be  too  long 
and  tedious  in  colloquy. 

2.  Dialogues  and  Colloquies. — Varied  extracts  from  dramas,  old 
and  new,  tragic  and  comic,  are  included  in  this  part,  and  complete 
the  volume.     They  have  been  chosen  with  great  care,  and  with 
special  regard  to  eliminating  that  license  and  immorality  which 
have  so  infected  the  stage  drama  in  our  day.     It  is  hoped  they  will 
give  ease  of  colloquy  to  students,  while  at  the  same  time  they  offer 
them  a  new  and  extensive  selection  from  the  works  of  English  and 
American  dramatists. 


THE  .  jjjr, 

SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER  ;,; 


PART   I. 
DECLAMATIONS    IN   PEOSB. 


ACADEMIC   AND   POPULAR. 


THE  OKATOR'S  ART. 

JOHN  QUINCT  ADAMS. 

THE  eloquence  of  the  college  is  like  the  discipline  of  a  review.  The 
art  of  war,  we  are  all  sensible,  does  not  consist  in  manoeuvres  on  a 
training-day;  nor  the  steadfastness  of  the  soldier  in  the  hour  of 
battle,  in  the  drilling  of  his  orderly  sergeant.  Yet  the  superior  excel- 
lence of  the  veteran  army  is  exemplified  in  nothing  more  forcibly  than 
in  the  perfection  of  its  discipline.  It  is  in  the  heat  of  action,  upon 
the  field  of  blood,  that  the  fortune  of  the  day  may  be  decided  by  the 
exactness  of  manual  exercise ;  and  the  art  of  displaying  a  column,  or 
directing  a  charge,  may  turn  the  balance  of  victory,  and  change  the 
history  of  the  world.  The  application  of  these  observations  is  as  direct 
to  the  art  of  oratory  as  to  that  of  war.  The  exercises  to  which  you  are 
here  accustomed  are  not  intended  merely  for  the  display  of  the  talents 
you  have  acquired.  They  are  instruments  put  into  your  hands  for 
future  use.  Their  object  is  not  barely  to  prepare  you  for  the  composi- 
tion and  delivery  of  an  oration  to  amuse  an  idle  hour  on  some  public 
anniversary.  It  is  to  give  you  a  clue  for  the  labyrinth  of  legislation 
in  the  public  councils ;  a  spear  for  the  conflict  of  judicial  war  in  the 
public  tribunals ;  a  sword  for  the  field  of  religious  and  moral  victory 
ip  the  pulpit. 

From  "  Lectures  on  Rhetoric  and  Oratory,",  delivered  at  Harvard,  1808. 

(27) 


28  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE  ORATOR'S  GIFT. 

ABBE  BAUTAIW- 

ART  may  develop  and  perfect  the  talent  of  a  speaker,  but  cannot 
produce  it.  The  exercises  of  grammar  and  of  rhetoric  will  teach  a 
pe.rtfoft  how;to/  sp.'epk  ^correctly  and  elegantly;  but  nothing  can  teach 
him  to  be  eloquent,  or  give  that  eloquence  which  comes  from  the  heart 
and  gCj.es  to  the  heart.  •  All  'the  precepts  and  artifices  on  earth  can  but 
form  'iihs  appearances  o.r  semblance  of  it.  Now  this  true  and  natural 
eloquence  which  moves,  persuades  and  transports,  consists  of  a  soul 
and  a  body,  like  man,  whose  image,  glory,  and  word  it  is. 

The  soul  of  eloquence  is  the  centre  of  the  human  soul  itself,  which, 
enlightened  by  the  rays  of  an  idea,  or  warmed  and  stirred  by  an 
impression,  flashes  or  bursts  forth  to  manifest,  by  some  sign  or  other, 
what  it  feels  or  sees.  This  it  is  which  gives  movement  and  life  to  a 
discourse;  it  is  like  a  kindled  torch,  or  a  shuddering  and  vibrating 
nerve. 

The  body  of  eloquence  is  the  language  which  it  requires  in  order  to 
speak,  and  which  must  harmoniously  clothe  what  it  thinks  or  feels,  as 
a  fine  shape  harmonizes  with  the  spirit  which  it  contains.  The  material 
part  of  language  is  learnt  instinctively,  and  practice  makes  us  feel  and 
seize  its  delicacies  and  shades.  The  understanding  then,  which  sees 
rightly  and  conceives  clearly,  and  the  heart  which  feels  keenly,  find 
naturally,  and  without  effort,  the  words  and  the  arrangement  of  words 
most  analogous  to  what  is  to  be  expressed.  Hence  the  innate  talent 
of  eloquence,  which  results  alike  from  certain  intellectual  and  moral 
aptitudes,  and  from  the  physical  constitution,  especially  from  that  of 
the  senses  and  of  the  organs  of  the  voice. 

From  "  The  Art  of  Extempore  Speaking." 


THE  WONDERS   OF  THE   DAWN. 

EDWARD  EVERETT. 

MUCH  as  we  are  indebted  to  our  observatories  for  elevating  our  con- 
ceptions of  the  heavenly  bodies,  they  present  even  to  the  unaided  sight 
scenes  of  glory  which  words  are  too  feeble  to  describe.  I  had  occasion, 
a  few  weeks  since,  to  take  the  early  train  from  Providence  to  Boston  ; 
and  for  this  purpose  rose  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Everything 
around  was  wrapt  in  darkness  and  hushed  in  silence,  broken  only  by 
what  seemed  at  that  hour  the  unearthly  clank  and  rush  of  the  train. 
It  was  a  mild,  serene,  midsummer's  night, — the  sky  was  without  a 
cloud, — the  winds  were  whist.  The  moon,  then  in  the  last  quarter, 
had  just  risen,  and  the  stars  shone  with  a  spectral  lustre  but  little 
affected  by  her  presence.  Jupiter,  two  hours  high,  was  the  herald  of 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  29 

the  day ;  the  Pleiades  just  above  the  horizon  shed  their  sweet  influence 
in  the  east ;  Lyra  sparkled  near  the  zenith ;  Andromeda  Veiled  her 
newly-discftvered  glories  from  the  naked  eye  in  the  south  ;  the  steady 
pointers  far  beneath  the  pole  looked  meekly  up  from  the  depths  of  the 
north  to  their  sovereign. 

Such  was  the  glorious  spectacle  as  I  entered  the  train.  As  we  pro- 
ceeded, the  timid  approach  of  twilight  become  more  perceptible ;  the 
intense  blue  of  the  sky  began  to  soften ;  the  smaller  stars,  like  little 
children,  went  first  to  rest ;  the  sister-beams  of  the  Pleiades  soon 
melted  together ;  but  the  bright  constellations  of  the  west  and  north 
remained  unchanged.  Steadily  the  wondrous  transfiguration  went  on. 
Hands  of  angels  hidden  from  mortal  eyes  shifted  the  scenery  of  the 
heavens ;  the  glories  of  night  dissolved  into  the  glories  of  the  dawn. 
The  blue  sky  now  turned  more  softly  gray ;  the  great  watch-stars  shut 
up  their  holy  eyes ;  the  east  began  to  kindle.  Faint  streaks  of  purple 
soon  blushed  along  the  sky ;  the  whole  celestial  concave  was  filled  with 
the  inflowing  tides  of  the  morning  light,  which  came  pouring  down 
from  above  in  one  great  ocean  of  radiance  ;  till  at  length,  as  we  reached 
the  Blue  Hills,  a  flash  of  purple  fire  blazed  out  from  above  the  horizon, 
and  turned  the  dewy  tear-drops  of  flower  and  leaf  into  rubies  and 
diamonds.  In  a  few  seconds,  the  everlasting  gates  of  the  morning 
were  thrown  wide  open,  and  the  lord  of  day,  arrayed  in  glories  too 
severe  for  the  gaze  of  man,  began  his  state. 

From  "  Address  at  the  Inauguration  of  the  Dudley  Observatory,"  1856. 


THE   DUTIES   OF   THE   HISTORIAN. 

MITCHELL  KINO. 

THE  first  duty  of  the  man,  who  contemplates  the  arduous  task  of 
writing  a  history,  would  seem  to  be,  to  estimate  his  own  strength,  and 
ascertain  how  far  he  is,  or  can  make  himself,  competent  for  the  under- 
taking. To  know  one's  self,  is  perhaps  the  most  difficult  part  of  human 
knowledge.  Few,  very  few,  have  attained  that  yvioOc,  aeaorov — Know 
thyself — which  the  satirist  says,  E  ccelo  descendit — came  down  from 
heaven,  and  was  inscribed  in  golden  letters  on  the  portals  of  the  temple 
of  Delphos.  It  is  necessary  for  the  historian,  as  well  as  the  poet,  to 
ascertain — 

quid  ferre  recusent, 
Quid  valeant  humeri ; 

and  not  to  take  up  a  load  which  he  is  unable  to  carry.   If  he  err  greatly 
in  this  estimate,  he  may  look  in  vain  for  success. 

An  accurate  and  comprehensive  acquaintance  with  the  events  of  the 
times  of  which  he  undertakes  to  write,  and  with  the  characters  of  the 
3* 


30  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

men  who  acted  in  them,  is  indispensable  to  the  historian.  No  paina 
can  be  too*  great,  no  research  too  persevering,  to  acquire  this  informa- 
tion. Without  it,  correct  history  cannot  be  written.  It  musfbe  sought 
in  every  quarter  in  which  it  can  be  obtained ;  in  the  public  archives  of 
a  people — in  the  repositories  of  individuals — in  the  ephemeral,  in  the 
enduring  literature  of  the  day — in  the  private  letters— in  the  monu- 
ments of  the  age.  Herodotus  visited  himself  the  places  which  he 
describes ;  and  examined  the  records  of  the  people  of  whom  he  writes, 
whenever  they  were  accessible  to  him ;  and  when  he  relates  anything 
which  he  had  not  himself  seen,  or  learned,  from  what  he  considered 
sufficient  authority,  he  generally  qualifies  his  narrative  with  an  "  it  is 
said,"  or  "  they  say,"  and  leaves  the  reader  to  form  his  own  conclusion. 
Thucydides  lived,  we  know,  in  the  midst  of  the  interesting  events  which 
he  so  admirably  commemorates — mingled  largely  in  them — heard,  per- 
haps, the  very  speeches  which  he  puts  in  the  mouths  of  Pericles,  and 
of  others  of  his  contemporaries  ;  and  possessed  ample  means — of  which 
he  has  well  availed  himself — for  obtaining  the  information  which  he 
required.  Polybius  travelled  through  Gaul  and  Spain — followed  Scipio 
into  Africa — was  present  with  him  at  the  taking  of  Carthage — by  his 
assistance  had  access  to  all  the  archives  of  Rome ;  and  was  indefatigable 
in  collecting  materials  for  the  composition  of  that  history,  which, 
mutilated  as  it  is,  deserves  to  be  more  read  and  studied.  Examples 
similar  to  these  might  be  accumulated  almost  without  end ;  but  these 
may  serve  to  show  the  care  and  industry  required  in  collecting  the 
information  necessary  for  the  historian. 

From  "  A  Discourse  before  the  Georgia  Historical  Society." 


POPULAK  GOVERNMENT  IN  AMERICA. 

DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

WHEN  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  was  fought,  the  existence  of  South 
America  was  scarcely  felt  in  the  civilized  world.  The  thirteen  little 
colonies  of  North  America  habitually  called  themselves  the  "  Conti- 
nent." Borne  down  by  colonial  subjugation,  monopoly,  and  bigotry, 
those  vast  regions  of  the  south  were  hardly  visible  above  the  horizon. 
But,  in  our  day,  there  hath  been,  as  it  were,  a  new  creation.  The 
southern  hemisphere  emerges  from  the  sea.  Its  lofty  mountains  begin 
to  lift  themselves  into  the  light  of  heaven  ;  its  broad  and  fertile  plains 
stretch  out  in  beauty  to  the  eye  of  civilized  man,  and,  at  the  mighty 
being  of  the  voice  of  political  liberty,  the  waters  of  darkness  retire. 

We  are  not  propagandists.  Wherever  other  systems  are  preferred, 
either  as  being  thought  better  in  themselves,  or  as  better  suited  to  exist- 
ing condition,  we  leave  the  preference  to  be  enjoyed.  Our  history 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  31 

hitherto  proves,  however,  that  the  popular  form  is  practicable,  and  that, 
with  wisdom  and  knowledge,  men  may  govern  themselves ;  and  the 
duty  incumTbent  on  us  is,  to  preserve  the  consistency  of  this  cheering 
example,  and  take  care  that  nothing  may  weaken  its  authority  with  the 
world.  If,  in  our  case,  the  representative  system  ultimately  fail,  popu- 
lar governments  must  be  pronounced  impossible.  No  combination  of 
circumstances  more  favorable  to  the  experiment  can  ever  be  expected 
to  occur.  The  last  hopes  of  mankind,  therefore,  rest  with  us  ;  and  if  it 
should  be  proclaimed,  that  our  example  had  become  an  argument 
against  the  experiment,  the  knell  of  popular  liberty  would  be  sounded 
throughout  the  earth. 

These  are  excitements  to  duty ;  but  they  are  not  suggestions  of 
doubt.  Our  history  and  our  condition,  all  that  is  gone  before  us,  and 
all  that  surrounds  us,  authorize  the  belief,  that  popular  governments, 
though  subject  to  occasional  variations,  perhaps  not  always  for  the 
better,  in  form,  may  yet,  in  their  general  character,  be  as  durable  and 
permanent  as  other  systems.  We  know,  indeed,  that,  in  our  country, 
any  other  is  impossible.  The  principle  of  free  governments  adheres  to 
the  American  soil.  It  is  bedded  in  it — immovable  as  its  mountains. 

From  "  Oration  at  tlie  Laying  of  the  Corner  Stone  of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument?' 


LANGUAGE   AND  POETEY. 

J.  R.  INGERSOLL. 

WHAT  has  so  much  adorned  and  characterized  an  age  as  its  poetic 
fame  ?  Look  back  through  the  annals  of  every  nation  that  has  been 
distinguished  by  the  various  properties  of  greatness,  and  the  eye  will 
rest  with  its  intensest  interest  on  those  periods  which  the  historian  has 
been  delighted  to  describe  as  the  days  when  language  was  pure,  and 
when  poets  were  honored  and  renowned — the  days  of  Pericles,  of 
Augustus,  of  Elizabeth,  of  Louis  XIV.  You  are  familiar  with  the 
observation  of  Kennett,  that  it  was  a  common  saying,  that  if  all  arts 
and  sciences  were  lost,  they  might  be  found  in  Virgil.  His  knowledge 
and  his  verse  were  not  the  less  amiable  for  the  absence  of  rhyme,  which 
marked  not  his  writings  only,  but  those  of  all  the  classic  poets.  The 
classic  language  of  Rome  was  coeval  with  Roman  glory,  which  faded 
with  the  pollution  of  its  vigorous  and  expressive  dialect.  Rome  ceased 
to  be  the  Mistress  of  the  world  only  when  she  forgot  to  speak  the  Latin 
tongue. 

"  Obliti  sunt  Romas  loqui  lingua  Latina." 

History  is  not  wanting  in  other  proofs,  equally  authentic  and  memo- 
rable, of  the  association  between  the  inspired  efforts  of  poetry  and 
national  greatness,  or  even  the  essential  spirit  of  liberty.  Edward  the 


32  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

First  ordered  the  Welsh  Bards  to  be  murdered,  and  braved  the  penalty 

of— 

"  Cambria's  curse  and  Cambria's  tears  ;" 

as  the  most  effectual  method  of  extinguishing  the  national  spirit. 

From  "  An  Address  delivered  at  Athens,  Ga."  1847. 


THE    GLORY   OF  ATHENS. 

J.  R.  INGERSOLL. 

IT  is  with  unfeigned  pleasure  that  I  exchange  congratulations  with 
yourselves,  gentlemen,  and  with  all  this  assembly,  upon  our  being  in 
the  midst  of  Athens.  Not  personally  in  that  Athens  which  was  the 
light  of  Greece,  but  in  another  classic  residence,  adopting  for  wise  pur- 
poses of  emulation  and  resemblance  a  name  which  was  once  a  signal 
for  everything  brilliant  in  arts,  glorious  in  arms,  successful  in  com- 
merce, accomplished  in  manners,  and  distinguished  in  wit,  wisdom,  and 
elegant  literature.  Egypt  yielded  her  supremacy  to  this,  the  bright 
inheritrix  of  her  learning.  Imperial  Rome,  awaking  from  the  rugged 
sway  of  military  habit  and  authority,  sent  to  the  schools  of  Athenian 
philosophy  her  favorite  sons,  who  brought  back  the  elements  of  an 
Augustan  age.  All  the  world  did  homage  to  the  light  which  shone 
from  the  temple  of  Minerva  on  the  top  of  the  Acropolis.  The  source 
of  it  has  been  long  since  extinguished  ;  but  the  influences  of  it  have  not 
ceased  to  radiate  during  the  interval  of  two  thousand  years.  An  example 
sufficiently  obvious  for  distinct  examination,  connected  with  much  that 
might  be  unbecoming,  or  ill  adapted  to  the  uses  of  modern  times,  affords 
an  interesting  study  for  the  scholar,  who,  without  the  evils,  may  profit 
by  many  advantages  in  the  history  of  the  ancient  metropolis.  Works 
of  art  remain  in  imperishable  grandeur  for  the  instruction  and  admira- 
tion of  mankind.  Pagan  religion  and  false  philosophy  have  passed 
away.  Objects  which  served  in  their  proud  supremacy  to  adorn  them, 
still  present  in  venerable  ruin  monuments  of  exploded  error,  and  models 
of  taste  and  elegance.  A  people,  among  whom  deities  were  to  be  found 
scarcely  less  readily  than  men — who,  having  exhausted  the  fabulous 
calendar  of  the  skies,  erected  an  altar  to  the  unknown  God — have  given 
to  a  remote  posterity  the  mutilated  but  beautiful  memorials  of  a  delu- 
sive worship  for  the  uses  of  a  better  faith. 

From  "  An  Address  delivered  at  Athens,  Ga."  1847. 


THE   TEUE   INSPIRATION   OF   THE    ORATOR. 

ABBE  BACTAIN. 

HE  who  feels  the  importance  and  the  danger  of  speaking,  who  has 
any  notion  of  what  the  orator  ought  to  be,  any  notion  of  all  that  he 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  33 

needs  to  accomplish  his  task,  the  obstacles  he  must  surmount,  the  diffi- 
culties he  must  overcome,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  how  slight  a  matter 
suffices  to  overthrow  or  paralyze  him, — he  who  understands  all  this, 
can  well  conceive  also  that  he  requires  to  be  breathed  upon  from  on 
high  in  order  to  receive  the  inspiration,  the  light,  fire,  which  shall 
make  his  discourse  living  and  efficacious.  For  all  life  comes  from  Him 
who  is  life  itself,  life  infinite,  life  eternal,  inexhaustible,  and  the  life 
of  minds  more  still  than  of  bodies,  since  God  is  spirit.  It  is  but  just, 
therefore,  to  pay  Him  homage  for  what  He  has  vouchsafed  to  give  us, 
and  to  refer  to  Him  at  the  earliest  moment  the  fruit  or  glory  of  what 
we  have  received.  This  is  the  more  fitting,  because  there  is  nothing 
more  intoxicating  than  the  successes  of  eloquence ;  and  in  the  elation 
which  its  power  gives,  owing  to  a  consciousness  of  strength,  and  the 
visible  influence  which  one  is  exercising  over  one's  fellow-creatures, 
one  is  naturally  prone  to  exalt  oneself  in  one's  own  conceit,  and  to 
ascribe  to  oneself,  directly  or  indirectly,  wholly  or  partially,  the  effect 
produced.  One  should  beware  of  these  temptations  of  pride,  these 
illusions  of  vanity,  which  are  invariably  fatal  to  true  talent. 

From  "  The  Art  of  Extempore  Speaking." 


THE  STATESMAN'S  PANOPLY. 

J.  Q.  ADAMS. 

WOULD  it  be  an  unlicensed  trespass  of  the  imagination  to  conceive, 
that  on  the  night  preceding  the  day  of  which  you  now  commemorate 
the  fiftieth  anniversary — on  the  night  preceding  that  thirtieth  of  April, 
one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty-nine,  when  from  the  balcony 
of  your  city  hall,  the  chancellor  of  the  state  of  New  York  administered 
to  George  Washington  the  solemn  oath,  faithfully  to  execute  the  office 
of  President  of  the  United  States,  and  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  to 
preserve,  protect,  and  defend  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States — 
that  in  the  visions  of  the  night,  the  guardian  angel  of  the  Father  of  our 
country  had  appeared  before  him,  in  the  venerated  form  of  his  mother, 
and,  to  cheer  and  encourage  him  in  the  performance  of  the  momentous 
and  solemn  duties  that  he  was  about  to  assume,  had  delivered  to  him  a 
suit  of  celestial  armor — a  helmet,  consisting  of  the  principles  of  piety, 
of  justice,  of  honor,  of  benevolence,  with  which  from  his  earliest  infancy 
he  had  hitherto  walked  through  life,  in  the  presence  of  all  his  brethren 
— a  spear,  studded  with  the  self-evident  truths  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence — a  sword,  the  same  with  which  he  had  led  the  armies 
of  his  country  through  the  war  of  freedom,  to  the  summit  of  the  tri- 
umphal arch  of  independence — a  corselet  and  cuishes  of  long  experience 
and  habitual  intercourse  in  peace  and  war  with  the  world  of  mankind, 

C 


34  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

his  cotemporaries  of  the  human  race,  in  all  their  stages  of  civilization — 
and  last  of  all,  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  a  SHIELD  embossed 
by  heavenly  hands,  with  the  future  history  of  his  country. 

Yes,  gentlemen  !  on  that  shield,  the  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED 
STATES,  was  sculptured  (by  forms  unseen,  and  in  characters  then 
invisible  to  mortal  eye)  the  predestined  and  prophetic  history  of  the 
one  confederated  people  of  the  North  American  Union. 

From  "  The  Jubilee  of  the  Constitution,"  1839. 


MOUNT   EBAL   AND   MOUNT  GEEIZIM. 

J.  Q.  ADAMS. 

WHEN  the  children  of  Israel,  after  forty  years  of  wanderings  in  the 
wilderness,  were  about  to  enter  upon  the  promised  land,  their  leader, 
Moses,  who  was  not  permitted  to  cross  the  Jordan  with  them,  just 
before  his  removal  from  among  them,  commanded  that  when  the  Lord 
their  God  should  have  brought  them  into  the  land,  they  should  put  the 
curse  upon  Mount  Ebal,  and  the  blessing  upon  Mount  Gerizim.  This 
injunction  was  faithfully  fulfilled  by  his  successor  Joshua.  Immedi- 
ately after  they  had  taken  possession  of  the  land,  Joshua  built  an  altar 
to  the  Lord,  of  whole  stones,  upon  Mount  Ebal.  And  there  he  wrote 
upon  the  stones  a  copy  of  the  law  of  Moses,  which  he  had  written  in 
the  presence  of  the  children  of  Israel :  and  all  Israel,  and  their  elders 
and  officers,  and  their  judges,  stood  on  the  two  sides  of  the  ark  of  the 
covenant,  borne  by  the  priests  and  Levites,  six  tribes  over  against 
Mount  Gerizim,  and  six  over  against  Mount  Ebal.  And  he  read  all 
the  words  of  the  law,  the  blessings  and  cursings,  according  to  all  that 
was  written  in  the  book  of  the  law. 

Fellow-citizens,  the  ark  of  your  covenant  is  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. Your  Mount  Ebal  is  the  confederacy  of  separate  state 
sovereignties,  and  your  Mount  Gerizim  is  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States.  In  that  scene  of  tremendous  and  awful  solemnity,  narrated  in 
the  Holy  Scriptures,  there  is  not  a  curse  pronounced  against  the  people 
upon  Mount  Ebal,  not  a  blessing  promised  them  upon  Mount  Gerizim, 
which  your  posterity*  may  not  suffer  or  enjoy,  from  your  and  their 
adherence  to,  or  departure  from,  the  principles  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence,  practically  interwoven  in  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States.  Lay  up  these  principles,  then,  in  your  hearts,  and  in  your 
souls — bind  them  for  signs  upon  your  hands,  that  they  may  be  as 
frontlets  between  your  eyes — teach  them  to  your  children,  speaking  of 
them  when  sitting  in  your  houses,  when  walking  by  the  way,  when 
lying  down  and  when  rising  up — write  them  upon  the  doorplates  of 
your  houses,  and  upon  your  gates — cling  to  them  as  to  the  issues  of 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  35 

life — adhere  to  them  as  to  the  cords  of  your  eternal  salvation.  So  may 
your  children's  children  at  the  next  return  of  this  day  of  jubilee,  after 
a  full  century  of  experience  under  your  national  Constitution,  celebrate 
it  again  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  all  the  blessings  recognised  by  you  in 
the  commemoration  of  this  day,  and  of  all  the  blessings  promised  to  the 
children  of  Israel  upon  Mount  Gerizim,  as  the  reward  of  obedience  to 
the  law  of  God. 

From  "  TJie,  Jubilee  qfUie.  Constitution,"  1839. 


EAKLY  ASTRONOMY. 

LORD  MACAULAT. 

ASTRONOMY  was  one  of  the  sciences  which  Plato  exhorted  his  disciples 
to  learn,  but  for  reasons  far  removed  from  common  habits  of  thinking. 
"  Shall  we  set  down  astronomy,"  says  Socrates,  "  among  the  subjects 
of  study?"  "I  think  so,"  answers  his  young  friend  Glaucon :  "to 
know  something  about  the  seasons,  about  the  months -and  the  years,  is 
of  use  for  military  purposes,  as  well  as  for  agriculture  and  navigation." 
"  It  amuses  me,"  says  Socrates,  "  to  see  how  afraid  you  are  lest  the 
common  herd  of  people  should  accuse  you  of  recommending  useless 
studies."  He  then  proceeds  in  that  pure  and  magnificent  diction, 
which,  as  Cicero  said,  Jupiter  would  use  if  Jupiter  spoke  Greek,  to 
explain,  that  the  use  of  astronomy  is  not  to  add  to. the  vulgar  comforts 
of  life,  but  to  assist  in  raising  the  mind  to  the  contemplation  of  things 
which  are  to  be  perceived  by  the  pure  intellect  alone.  The  knowledge 
of  the  actual  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies  he  considers  as  of  little 
value.  The  appearances  which  make  the  sky  beautiful  at  night  are, 
he  tells  us,  like  the  figures  which  a  geometrician  draws  on  the  sand, 
mere  examples,  mere  helps  to  feeble  minds.  We  must  get  beyond 
them  ;  we  must  neglect  them  ;  we  must  attain  to  an  astronomy  which 
is  as  independent  of  the  actual  stars  as  geometrical  truth  is  independent 
of  the  lines  of  an  ill-drawn  diagram.  This  is,  we  imagine,  very  nearly, 
•if  not  exactly,  the  astronomy  which  Bacon  compared  to  the  ox  of  Pro- 
metheus— a  sleek,  well-shaped  hide,  stuffed  with  rubbish,  goodly  to  look 
at,  but  containing  nothing  to  eat.  He  complained  that  astronomy  had, 
to  its  great  injury,  been  separated  from  natural  philosophy,  of  which 
it  was  one  of  the  noblest  provinces,  and  annexed  to  the  domain  of 
mathematics.  The  world  stood  in  need,  he  said,  of  a  very  different 
astronomy — of  a  living  astronomy,  of  an  astronomy  which  should  set 
forth  the  nature,  the  motion,  and  the  influences  of  the  heavenly  bodies, 
as  they  really  are. 

From  "  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays" 


36  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

INSTALLATION   SPEECH   AT   GLASGOW. 

LORD  MACAULAY. 

I  TRUST,  that  when  a  hundred  years  more  have  run  out,  this  ancient 
college  will  still  continue  to  deserve  well  of  our  country  and  of  man- 
kind. I  trust  that  the  installation  of  1949  will  be  attended  by  a  still 
greater  assembly  of  students  than  I  have  the  happiness  now  to  see 
before  me.  The  assemblage  indeed  may  not  meet  in  the  place  where 
we  have  met.  These  venerable  halls  may  have  disappeared.  My  suc- 
cessor may  speak  to  your  successors  in  a  more  stately  edifice,  in  an 
edifice  which,  even  among  the  magnificent  buildings  of  the  future 
Glasgow,  will  still  be  admired  as  a  fine  specimen  of  architecture  which 
flourished  in  the  days  of  the  good  Queen  Victoria.  But  though  the  site 
and  the  walls  may  be  new,  the  spirit  of  the  institution  will,  I  hope,  be 
still  the  same.  My  successor  will,  I  hope,  be  able  to  boast  that  the 
fifth  century  of  the  University  has  been  even  more  glorious  than  the 
fourth.  He  will  be  able  to  vindicate  that  boast,  by  citing  a  long  list 
of  eminent  men,  great  masters  of  experimental  science,  of  ancient 
learning,  of  our  native  eloquence,  ornaments  of  the  senate,  the  pulpit, 
and  the  bar. 

He  will,  I  hope,  mention  with  high  honor  some  of  my  young  friends 
who  now  hear  me  ;  and  he  will,  I  also  hope,  be  able  to  add  that  their 
talents  and  learning  were  not  wasted  on  selfish  or  ignoble  objects,  but 
were  employed  to  promote  the  physical  and  moral  good  of  their  species, 
to  extend  the  empire  of  man  over  the  material  world,  to  defend  the 
cause  of  civil  and  religious  liberty  against  tyrants  and  bigots,  and  to 
defend  the  cause  of  virtue  and  order  against  the  enemies  of  all  divine 
and  human  laws.  I  have  now  given  utterance  to  a  part,  and  a  part 
only,  of  the  recollections  and  anticipations  of  which  on  this  solemn 
occasion  my  mind  is  full.  I  again  thank  you  for  the  honor  which  you 
have  bestowed  on  me ;  and  I  assure  you  that  while  I  live  I  shall 
never  cease  to  take  a  deep  interest  in  the  welfare  and  fame  of  the  body 
with  which,  by  your  kindness,  I  have  this  day  become  connected. 

From  "  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays." 


THE   INFLUENCE   OP  BYRON. 

LORD  MACAULAT. 

AMONG  that  large  class  of  young  persons  whose  reading  is  almost 
entirely  confined  to  works  of  imagination,  the  popularity  of  Lord  Byron 
was  unbounded.  They  bought  pictures  of  him,  they  treasured  up  the 
smallest  relics  of  him ;  they  learned  his  poems  by  heart,  and  did  their 
best  to  write  like  him,  and  to  look  like  him.  Many  of  them  practised 
at  the  glass,  in  the  hope  of  catching  the  curl  of  the  upper  lip,  and  the 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  37 

scowl  of  the  brow,  which  appear  in  some  of  his  portraits.  A  few  dis- 
carded their  neckcloths,  in  imitation  of  their  great  leader.  For  some 
years,  the  Minerva  press  sent  forth  no  novel  without  a  mysterious, 
unhappy,  Lara-like  peer.  The  number  of  hopeful  under-graduates  and 
medical  students  who  became  things  of  dark  imaginings,  on  whom  the 
freshness  of  the  heart  ceased  to  fall  like  dew,  whose  passions  had  con- 
sumed themselves  to  dust,  and  to  whom  the  relief  of  tears  was  denied, 
passes  all  calculation.  This  was  not  the  worst.  There  was  created  in 
the  minds  of  many  of  these  enthusiasts  a  pernicious  and  absurd  asso- 
ciation between  intellectual  power  and  moral  depravity. 

This  affectation  has  passed  away ;  and  a  few  more  years  will  destroy 
whatever  yet  remains  of  that  magical  potency  which  once  belonged  to 
the  name  of  Byron.  To  us  he  is  still  a  man,  young,  noble,  and  un- 
happy. To  our  children  he  will  be  merely  a  writer ;  and  their 
impartial  judgment  will  appoint  his  place  among  writers,  without 
regard  to  his  rank  or  to  his  private  history.  That  his  poetry  will 
undergo  a  severe  sifting ;  that  much  of  what  has  been  admired  by  his 
contemporaries  will  be  rejected  as  worthless,  we  have  little  doubt.  But 
we  have  as  little  doubt,  that,  after  the  closest  scrutiny,  there  will  still 
remain  much  that  can  only  perish  with  the  English  language. 

From  "  Review  of  Moore's  Life  of  Byron." 


THE   MIRACLES   OF  NATURE. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

You  remember  that  fancy  of  Aristotle's,  of  a  man  who  had  grown  to 
maturity  in  some  dark  distance,  and  was  brought  on  a  sudden  into 
the  upper  air  to  see  the  sun  rise.  What  would  his  wonder  be,  says 
the  Philosopher,  his  rapt  astonishment,  at  the  sight  we  daily  witness 
with  indifference !  With  the  free  open  sense  of  a  child,  yet  with  the 
ripe  faculty  of  a  man,  his  whole  heart  would  be  kindled  by  that  sight, 
he  would  discern  it  well  to  be  Godlike,  his  soul  would  fall  down  in 
worship  before  it.  Now,  just  such  a  childlike  greatness  was  in  the 
primitive  nations.  The  first  Pagan  Thinker  among  rude  men,  the  first 
man  that  began  to  think,  was  precisely  the  child-man  of  Aristotle. 
Simple,  open  as  a  child,  yet  with  the  depth  and  strength  of  a  man. 
Nature  had  as  yet  no  name  to  him ;  he  had  not  yet  united  under  a 
name  the  infinite  variety  of  sights,  sounds,  shapes,  and  motions,  which 
we  now  collectively  name  Universe,  Nature,  or  the  like, — and  so  with 
a  name  dismiss  it  from  us.  To  the  wild  deep-hearted  man  all  was  yet 
new,  not  veiled  under  names  or  formulas ;  it  stood  naked,  flashing  in 
on  him  there,  beautiful,  awful,  unspeakable.  Nature  was  to  this  man, 
what  to  the  Thinker  and  Prophet  it  for  ever  is,  preternatural.  This 
green  flowery  rock-built  earth,  the  trees,  the  mountains,  rivers,  many- 
4 


38  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

sounding  seas  ;  that  great  deep  sea  of  azure  that  swims  overhead  ;  the 
winds  sweeping  through  it ;  the  black  cloud  fashioning  itself  together, 
now  pouring  out  fire,  now  hail  and  rain:  what  is  it?.  Ay,  what?  At 
bottom  we  do  not  yet  know ;  we  can  never  know  at  all.  It  is  not  by 
our  superior  insight  that  we  escape  the  difficulty  ;  it  is  by  our  superior 
levity,  our  inattention,  our  want  of  insight.  It  is  by  not  thinking  that 
we  cease  to  wonder  at  it.  Hardened  round  us,  encasing  wholly  every 
notion  we  form,  is  a  wrappage  of  traditions,  hearsays,  mere  words. 
We  call  that  fire  of  the  black  thunder-cloud  "  electricity/'  and  lecture 
learnedly  about  it,  and  grind  the  like  of  it  out  of  glass  and  silk ;  but 
what  is  it?  "What  made  it?  Whence  comes  it?  Whither  goes  it? 
Science  has  done  much  for  us ;  but  it  is  a  poor  science  that  would  hide 
from  us  the  great  deep  sacred  infinitude  of  Nescience,  whither  we  can 
never  penetrate,  on  which  all  science  swims  as  a  mere  superficial  film. 
This  world,  after  all  our  science  and  sciences,  is  still  a  miracle ;  won- 
derful, inscrutable,  magical  and  more,  to  whosoever  will  think  of  it. 

From  "  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship." 


MYSTERIES. 

THOMAS  CARLTLE. 

THAT  great  mystery  of  TIME,  were  there  no  other;  the  illimitable, 
silent,  never-resting  thing  called  Time,  rolling,  rushing  on,  swift,  silent, 
like  an  all-embracing  ocean-tide,  on  which  we  and  all  the  Universe 
swim  like  exhalations,  like  apparitions  which  are,  and  then  are  not :  this 
is  for  ever  very  literally  a  miracle  ;  a  thing  to  strike  us  dumb, — for  we 
have  no  word  to  speak  about  it.  This  Universe,  ah  me  ! — what  could  the 
wild  man  know  of  it ;  what  can  we  yet  know  ?  That  it  is  a  Force,  and 
thousandfold  Complexity  of  Forces  ;  a  Force  which  is  not  we.  That  is 
all ;  it  is  not  we,  it  is  altogether  different  from  us.  Force,  Force,  every- 
where Force ;  we  ourselves  a  mysterious  Force  in  the  centre  of  that. 
"  There  is  not  a  leaf  rotting  on  the  highway  but  has  Force  in  it :  how 
else  could  it  rot?"  Nay  surely,  to  the  Atheistic  Thinker,  if  such  a  one 
were  possible,  it  must  be  a -miracle  too,  this  huge  illimitable  whirlwind 
of  Force,  which  envelops  us  here ;  never-resting  whirlwind,  high  as 
Immensity,  old  as  Eternity.  What  is  it?  God's  Creation,  the  religious 
people  answer  ;  it  is  the  Almighty  God's  1  Atheistic  science  babbles 
poorly  at  it,  with  scientific  nomenclatures,  experiments  and  what  not, 
as  if  it  were  a  poor  dead  thing,  to  be  bottled  up  in  Leyden  jars,  and 
sold  over  counters ;  but  the  natural  sense  of  man,  in  all  times,  if  he 
will  honestly  apply  his  sense,  proclaims  it  to  be  a  living  thing, — ah,  an 
unspeakable,  godlike  thing ;  towards  which  the  best  attitude  for  us 
after  never  so  much  science,  is  awe,  devout  prostration  and  humility 
of  soul ;  worship  if  not  in  words,  then  in  silence. 

From  "  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  39 

THE   OEIGIN   OF   UNIVERSITIES. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

UNIVERSITIES  are  a  notable,  respectable  product  of  the  modern  ages. 
Their  existence,  too,  is  modified,  to  the  very  basis  of  it,  by  the  exist- 
ence of  books.  Universities  arose  while  there  were  yet  no  books  pro- 
curable ;  while  a  man,  for  a  single  book,  had  to  give  an  estate  of  land. 
That,  in  those  circumstances,  when  a  man  had  some  knowledge  to 
communicate,  he  should  do  it  by  gathering  the  learners  round  him, 
face  to  face,  was  a  necessity  for  him.  If  you  wanted  to  know  what 
Abelard  knew,  you  must  go  and  listen  to  Abelard.  Thousands,  as 
many  as  thirty  thousand,  went  to  hear  Abelard  and  that  metaphysi- 
cal theology  of  his.  And  now  for  any  other  teacher  who  had  also 
something  of  his  own  to  teach,  there  was  a  great  convenience  opened : 
so  many  thousands  eager  to  learn  were  already  assembled  yonder ;  of 
all  places  the  best  place  for  him  was  that.  For  any  third  teacher  it  was 
better  still;  and  grew  ever  the  better,  the  more  teachers  there  came. 
It  only  needed  now  that  the  king  took  notice  of  this  new  phenomenon ; 
combined  or  agglomerated  the  various  schools  into  one  school ;  gave  it 
edifices,  privileges,  encouragements,  and  named  it  universitas,  or  school 
of  all  sciences :  the  University  of  Paris,  in  its  essential  characters,  was 
there.  The  model  of  all  subsequent  universities ;  which,  down  even  to 
these  days,  for  six  centuries  now,  have  gone  on  to  found  themselves. 
Such,  I  conceive,  was  the  origin  of  universities. 

From  "  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship." 


ATHEISM  ABSUKD. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

DIDEROT  was  an  Atheist,  then  ;  stranger  still,  a  proselytizing  Atheist, 
who  esteemed  the  creed  worth  earnest  reiterated  preaching,  and  en- 
forcement with  all  vigor!  The  unhappy  man  had  "sailed  through 
the  Universe  of  Worlds  and  found  no  Maker  thereof;  had  descended 
to  the  abysses  where  Being  no  longer  casts  its  shadow,  and  felt  only 
the  rain-drops  trickle  down ;  and  seen  only  the  glimmering  rainbow  of 
Creation  which  originated  from  no  Sun  ;  and  heard  only  the  everlasting 
storm  which  no  one  governs ;  and  looked  upwards  for  the  DIVINE  EYE, 
and  beheld  only  the  black,  bottomless,  glaring  DEATH'S  EYE-SOCKET:" 
such,  with  all  his  wide  voyages,  was  the  philosophic  fortune  he  had 
realized. 

Sad  enough,  horrible  enough :  yet,  instead  of  shrieking  over  it,  or 
howling  and  Ernulphus'-cursing  over  it,  let  us,  as  the  more  profitable 
method,  keep  our  composure,  and  inquire  a  little,  What  possibly  it  may 
mean?  The  whole  phenomenon,  as  seems  to  us,  will  explain  itself 


40  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

from  the  fact  above  insisted  on,  that  Diderot  was  a  Polemic  of  decided 
character  in  the  Mechanical  Age.  With  great  expenditure  of  words 
and  froth,  in  arguments  as  waste,  wild-weltering,  delirious-dismal  as 
the  chaos  they  would  demonstrate — which  arguments  one  now  knows 
not  whether  to  laugh  at  or  to  weep  at,  and  almost  does  both, — have 
Diderot  and  his  sect  perhaps  made  this  apparent  to  all  who  examine  it : 
That  in  the  French  System  of  thought  (called  also  the  Scotch,  and  still 
familiar  enough  everywhere,  which,  for  want  of  a  better  title,  we  have 
named  the  Mechanical),  there. is  no  room  for  a  Divinity;  that  to  him 
for  whom  "  intellect,  or  the  power  of  knowing  and  believing,  is  still  sy- 
nonymous with  logic,  or  the  mere  power  of  arranging  and  communicat- 
ing," there  is  absolutely  no  proof  discoverable  of  a  Divinity ;  and  such 
a  man  has  nothing  for  it  but  either  (if  he  be  of  half  spirit,  as  is  the 
frequent  case)  to  trim  despicably  all  his  days  between  two  opinions  ; 
or  else  (if  he  be  of  whole  spirit)  to  anchor  on  the  rock  or  quagmire  of 
Atheism, — and  further,  should  he  see  tit,  proclaim  to  others  that  there 
is  good  riding  there.  So  much  may  Diderot  have  demonstrated :  a  con- 
clusion at  which  we  nowise  turn  pale.  Was  it  much  to  know  that 
Metaphysical  Speculation,  by  nature,  whirls  round  in  endless  Mael- 
stroms, "both  creating  and  swallowing — itself?"  For  so  wonderful  a 
self-swallowing  product  of  the  Spirit  of  Time,  could  any  result  to  arrive 
at  be  fitter  than  this  of  the  ETERNAL  No  ?  We  thank  Heaven  that  the 
result  is  finally  arrived  at ;  and  so  now  we  can  look  out  for  something 
other  and  further.  But,  above  all  things,  proof  of  a  God?  A  probable 
God  !  The  smallest  of  Finites  struggling  to  prove  to  itself  (that  is  to 
say,  if  we  consider  it,  to  picture  out  and  arrange  as  diagram,  and  in- 
clude within  itself)  the  Highest  Infinite ;  in  which,  by  hypothesis,  it 
lives,  and  moves,  and  has  its  being  1  This,  we  conjecture,  will  one  day 
seem  a  much  more  miraculous  miracle  than  that  negative  result  it  has 
arrived  at, — or  any  other  result  a  still  absurder  chance  might  have  led 
it  to.  He  who,  in  some  singular  Time  of  the  World's  History,  were 
reduced  to  wander  about,  in  stooping  posture,  with  painfully  con- 
structed sulphur-match  and  farthing  rushlight  (as  Gowkthrapple 
Naigeon),  or  smoky  tar-link  (as  Denis  Diderot),  searching  for  the  Sun, 
and  did  not  find  it ;  were  he  wonderful  and  his  failure ;  or  the  singular 
Time,  and  its  having  put  him  on  that  search  ? 

From  "  Essay  on  Diderot." 


THEISM  AND   ITS   TENETS. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

THE  second  consequence  seems  to  be  that  this  whole  current  hypo- 
thesis of  the  Universe  being  "  a  Machine,"  and  then  of  an  Architect, 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  41 

who  constructed  it,  sitting,  as  it  were,  apart,  and  guiding  it,  and  seeing 
it  go, — may  turn  out  an  inanity  and  nonentity ;  not  much  longer  tena- 
ble :  with  which  result  likewise  we  shall,  in  the  quietest  manner,  recon- 
cile ourselves.  "  Think  ye,"  says  Goethe,  "that  God  made  the  Uni- 
verse, and  then  let  it  run  round  his  finger  (am  Finger  aufen  liessef") 
On  the  whole,  that  Metaphysical  hurly-burly  (of  our  poor,  jarring, 
self-listening  Time)  ought  at  length  to  compose  itself:  that  seeking  for 
a  God  there,  and  not  here;  everywhere  outwardly  in  physical  Nature, 
and  not  inwardly  in  our  own  Soul,  where  alone  he  is  to  be  found  by 
USj — begins  to  get  wearisome.  Above  all,  that  "  faint  possible  Theism" 
which  now  forms  our  common  English  creed,  cannot  be  too  soon  swept 
out  of  the  world.  What  is  the  nature  of  that  individual,  who,  with 
hysterical  violence,  theoretically  asserts  a  God,  perhaps  a  revealed 
Symbol  and  Worship  of  God ;  and,  for  the  rest,  in  thought,  word,  and 
conduct,  meet  with  him  where  you  will,  is  found  living  as  if  his  theory 
were  some  polite  figure  of  speech,  and  his  theoretical  God  a  mere  dis- 
tant Simulacrum,  with  whom  he,  for  his  part,  had  nothing  further  to 
do  ?  Fool !  The  ETERNAL  is  no  Simulacrum  ;  God  is  not  only  There, 
but  Here,  or  nowhere,  in  that  life-breath  of  thine,  in  that  act  and 
thought  of  thine, — and  thou  wert  wise  to  look  to  it.  If  there  is  no 
God,  as  the  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart,  then  live  on  with  thy  decencies, 
and  lip-homages,  and  inward  Greed,  and  falsehood,  and  all  the  hollow 
cunningly-devised  halfness  that  recommends  thee  to  the  Mammon  of 
this  world :  if  there  is  a  God,  we  say,  look  to  it !  But,  in  either  case, 
what  art  thou  ?  The  Atheist  is  false ;  yet  is  there,  as  we  see,  a  fraction 
of  truth  in  him :  he  is  true  compared  with  thee ;  thou,  unhappy  mortal, 
livest  wholly  in  a  lie,  art  wholly  a  lie. 

From  "  Essay  on  Diderot." 


KINGS'   DESIRES. 

LORD  BACON. 

IT  is  a  miserable  state  of  mind  to  have  few  things  to  desire,  and 
many  things  to  fear ;  and  yet  that  commonly  is  the  case  with  kings, 
who  being  at  the  highest,  want  matter  of  desire,  which  makes  their 
minds  more  languishing,  and  have  many  representations  of  perils  and 
shadows,  which  make  their  minds  the  less  clear :  and  this  is  one  reason 
also  of  that  effect  which  the  Scripture  speaketh  of,  "  That  the  king's 
heart  is  inscrutable ;"  for  multitude  of  jealousies,  and  lack  of  some 
predominant  desire,  that  should  marshal  and  put  in  order  all  the  rest, 
maketh  any  man's  heart  hard  to  find  or  sound.  Hence  it  comes  like- 
wise, that  princes  many  times  make  themselves  desires,  and  set  their 
hearts  upon  toys ;  sometimes  upon  a  building ;  sometimes  upon  erect- 
4* 


42  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

ing  of  an  Order ;  sometimes  upon  the  advancing  of  a  person ;  some- 
times upon  obtaining  excellency  in  some  art,  or  feat  of  the  hand — as 
Nero  for  playing  on  the  harp  ;  Domitian  for  certainty  of  the  hand  with 
the  arrow;  Commodus  for  playing  at  fence;  Caracalla  for  driving 
chariots ;  and  the  like.  This  seemeth  incredible  unto  those  that  know 
not  the  principle,  that  the  mind  of  man  is  more  cheered  and  refreshed 
by  profiting  in  small  things,  than  by  standing  at  a  stay  in  great.  We 
see  also  that  kings  that  have  been  fortunate  conquerors  in  their  first 
years,  it  being  not  possible  for  them  to  go  forward  infinitely,  but  that 
they  must  have  some  check  or  arrest  in  their  fortunes,  turn  in  their 
latter  years  to  be  superstitious  and  melancholy ;  as  did  Alexander  the 
Great,  Dioclesian,  and  in  our  memory  Charles  V.,  and  others ;  for  he 
that  is  used  to  go  forward,  and  findeth  a  stop,  falleth  out  of  his  own 
favor,  and  is  not  the  thing  he  was. 

From  "  JSssays." 


STUDIES. 

LORD  BACON. 

STUDIES  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  ability.  Their  chief 
use  for  delight  is  in  privateness,  and  retiring ;  for  ornament,  is  in  dis- 
course ;  and  for  ability,  is  in  the  judgment  and  disposition  of  business  ; 
for,  expert  men  can  execute,  and  perhaps  judge  of  particulars,  one  by 
one  ;  but  the  general  counsels,  and  the  plots  and  marshalling  of  affairs, 
come  best  from  those  that  are  learned.  To  spend  too  much  time  in 
studies,  is  sloth ;  to  use  them  too  much  for  ornament,  is  affectation  ;  to 
make  judgment  wholly  by  their  rules,  is  the  humor  of  a  scholar  ;  they 
perfect  nature,  and  are  perfected  by  experience — for  natural  abilities 
are  like  natural  plants,  that  need  pruning  by  study ;  and  studies  them- 
selves do  give  forth  directions  too  much  at  large,  except  they  be  bounded 
in  by  experience.  Crafty  men  contemn  studies,  simple  men  admire 
them,  and  wise  men  use  them,  for  they  teach  not  their  own  use  ;  but 
that  is  a  wisdom  without  them,  and  above  them,  won  by  observation. 
Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor  to  believe  and  take  for  granted, 
nor  to  find  talk  and  discourse,  but  to  weigh  and  consider.  Some  books 
are  to  be  tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and  some  few  to  be  chewed 
and  digested :  that  is,  some  books  are  to  be  read  only  in  parts  ;  others 
to  be  read,  but  not  curiously ;  and  some  few  to  be  read  wholly,  and 
with  diligence  and  attention.  Some  books  also  may  be  read  by  deputy, 
and  extracts  made  of  them  by  others ;  but  that  would  be  only  in  the 
less  important  arguments,  and  the  meaner  sort  of  books ;  else  distilled 
books  are,  like  common  distilled  waters,  flashy  things.  Reading  maketh 
a  full  man,  conference  a  ready  man,  and  writing  an  exact  man ;  and, 
therefore,  if  a  man  write  little,  he  had  need  of  a  great  memory ;  if  he 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  43 

confer  little,  he  had  need  have  a  present  wit ;  and  if  he  read  little,  he 
had  need  have  much  cunning,  to  seem  to  know  that  he  doth  not.  His- 
tories make  men  wise ;  poets  witty  ;  the  mathematics  subtle ;  natural 
philosophy  deep ;  moral,  grave  ;  logic  and  rhetoric,  able  to  contend. 

From  " Essays" 


BEAUTY  AND   UTILITY. 

WlELAND. 

SOCRATES  exhorts  the  painter  and  the  sculptor  to  unite  the  beautiful 
and  the  agreeable  with  the  useful ;  as  he  encourages  the  pantomimic 
dancer  to  ennoble  the  pleasure  that  his  heart  may  be  capable  of  giving, 
and  to  delight  the  heart  at  the  same  time  with  the  senses.  According 
to  the  same  principle,  he  must  desire  every  laborer  who  occupies  him- 
self about  something  necessary,  to  unite  the  useful  as  much  as  possible 
with  the  beautiful.  But  to  allow  no  value  for  beauty,  except  where  it 
is  useful,  is  a  confusion  of  ideas. 

Beauty  and  grace  are  undoubtedly  united  by  nature  itself  with  the 
useful ;  but  they  are  not,  therefore,  desirable  because  they  are  useful ; 
but  because,  from  the  nature  of  man,  he  enjoys  a  pure  pleasure  in  their 
contemplation — a  pleasure  precisely  similar  to  that  which  the  contem- 
plation of  virtue  gives ;  a  necessity  as  imperative  for  man  as  a  reason- 
able being,  as  food,  clothing,  and  a  habitation  are  for  him  as  an  animal. 

I  say  for  him  as  an  animal,  because  he.  has  much  in  common  with 
all  or  most  other  animals.  But  neither  these  animal  wants,  nor  the 
capability  and  desire  to  satisfy  them,  make  him  a  man.  While  he 
procures  his  food,  builds  himself  a  nest,  takes  to  himself  a  mate,  leads 
his  young,  fights  with  any  other  who  would  deprive  him  of  his  food,  or 
take  possession  of  his  nest ;  in  all  this  he  acts,  so  far  as  it  is  merely 
corporal,  as  an  animal.  Merely  through  the  skill  and  manner  in  which, 
as  a  man,  he  performs  all  these  animal-like  acts  (where  not  reduced  to 
and  retained  in  an  animal  state  by  external  compulsory  causes),  does 
he  distinguish  and  elevate  himself  above  all  other  animals,  and  evince 
his  human  nature.  For  this  animal  that  calls  itself  man,  and  this  only, 
has  an  inborn  feeling  for  beauty  and  order,  has  a  heart  disposed  to 
social  communication,  to  compassion  and  sympathy,  and  to  an  infinite 
variety  of  pleasing  and  beautiful  feelings ;  has  a  strong  tendency  to 
imitate  and  create,  and  labors  incessantly  to  improve  whatever  it  has 
invented  or  formed. 

All  these  peculiarities  together  separate  him  essentially  from  the 
other  animals,  render  him  their  lord  and  master,  place  earth  and  ocean 
in  his  power,  and  lead  him  step  by  step  so  high  through  the  nearly 
illimitable  elevation  of  his  capacity  for  art,  that  he  is  at  length  in  a 


44  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

condition  to  remodel  nature  itself,  and  from  the  materials  it  affords  him 
to  create  a  new,  and,  for  his  peculiar  purpose,  a  more  perfectly  adjusted 
world. 

From  "  Oriticism  upon  Balzort." 
I 


ENGLISH   VALOK. 

DR.  JOHNSON. 

-  BY  those  who  have  compared  the  military  genius  of  the  English  with 
that  of  the  French  nation,  it  is  remarked,  that  the  French  officers  will 
always  lead,  if  the  soldiers  will  follow;  and  that  the  English  soldiers 
will  always  follow,  if  their  officers  will  lead. 

In  all  pointed  sentences,  some  degree  of  accuracy  must  be  sacrificed 
to  conciseness :  and,  in  this  comparison,  our  officers  seem  to  lose  what 
our  soldiers  gain.  I  know  not  any  reason  for  supposing  that  the 
English  officers  are  less  willing  than  the  French  to  lead  ;  but  it  is,  I 
think,  universally  allowed  that  the  English  soldiers  are  more  willing  to 
follow.  Our  nation  may  boast,  beyond  any  other  people  in  the  world, 
of  a  kind  of  epidemic  bravery,  diffused  equally  through  all  its  ranks. 
We  can  show  a  peasantry  of  heroes,  and  fill  our  armies  with  clowns, 
whose  courage  may  vie  with  that  of  their  general. 

Whence  then  is  the  courage  of  the  English  vulgar  ?  It  proceeds,  in 
my  opinion,  from  that  dissolution  of  dependence,  which  obliges  every 
man  to  regard  his  own  character.  While  every  man  is  fed  by  his  own 
hands,  he  has  no  need  of  any  servile  arts ;  he  may  always  have  wages 
for  his  labor  ;  and  is  no  less  necessary  to  his  employer  than  his  employer 
is  to  him.  While  he  looks  for  no  protection  from  others,  he  is  naturally 
roused  to  be  his  own  protector ;  and  having  nothing  to  abate  his  esteem 
of  himself,  he  consequently  aspires  to  the  esteem  of  others.  Thus  every 
man  that  crowds  our  streets  is  a  man  of  honor,  disdainful  of  obligation, 
impatient  of  reproach,  and  desirous  of  extending  his  reputation  among 
those  of  his  own  rank  ;  and  as  courage  is  in  most  frequent  use,  the  fame 
of  courage  is  most  eagerly  pursued.  From  this  neglect  of  subordina- 
tion I  do  not  deny  that  some  inconveniences  may  from  time  to  time 
proceed :  the  power  of  the  law  does  not  always  sufficiently  supply  the 
want  of  reverence,  or  maintain  the  proper  distinction  between  different 
ranks ;  but  good  and  evil  will  grow  up  in  this  world  together ;  and  they 
who  complain  in  peace  of  the  insolence  of  the  populace,  must  remember 
that  their  insolence  in  peace  is  bravery  in  war. 

From  "  Political  T>-acts." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PEOSE.  45 

TRUTH. 

LORD  BACON. 

THE  first  creature  of  God,  in  the  works  of  the  days,  was  the  light  of 
the  sense,  the  last  was  the  light  of  reason,  and  his  Sabbath  work,  ever 
since,  is  the  illumination  of  his  Spirit.  First  he  breathed  light  upon 
the  face  of  the  matter,  or  chaos,  then  he  breathed  light  into  the  face  of 
man  ;  and  still  he  breatheth  and  inspireth  light  into  the  face  of  his 
chosen.  The  poet,  that  beautified  the  sect,  that  was  otherwise  inferior 
to  the  rest,  saith  yet  excellently  well,  "  It  is  a  pleasure  to  stand  upon 
the  shore,  and  to  see  ships  tost  upon  the  sea ;  a  pleasure  to  stand  in 
the  window  of  a  castle,  and  to  see  a  battle,  and  the  adventures  thereof 
below ;  but  no  pleasure  is  comparable  to  the  standing  upon  the  vantage- 
ground  of  truth  (a  hill  not  to  be  commanded,  and  where  the  air  is 
always  clear  and  serene),  and  to  see  the  errors,  and  wanderings,  and 
mists,  and  tempests,  in  the  vale  below ;"  so  always  that  this  prospect  be 
with  pity,  and  not  with  swelling  or  pride.  Certainly  it  is  heaven  upon 
earth  to  have  a  man's  mind  move  in  charity,  rest  in  providence,  and 
turn  upon  the  poles  of  truth. 

To  pass  from  theological  and  philosophical  truth  to  the  truth  of  civil 
business,  it  will  be  acknowledged,  even  by  those  that  practise  it  not, 
that  clear  and  round  dealing  is  the  honor  of  man's  nature,  and  that 
mixture  of  falsehood  is  like  alloy  in  coin  of  gold  or  silver,  which  may 
make  the  metal  work  the  better,  but  it  embaseth  it ;  for  these  winding 
and  crooked  courses  are  the  goings  of  the  serpent,  which  goeth  basely 
upon  the  belly,  and  not  upon  the  feet.  There  is  no  vice  that  doth  so 
cover  a  man  with  shame  as  to  be  found  false  and  perfidious  ;  and  there- 
fore Montaigne  saith  prettily,  when  he  in^u'fred  the  reason  why  the 
word  of  the  lie  should  be  such  a  disgrace,  and  such  an  odious  charge, 
"If  it  be  well  weighed,  to  say,  that  a  man  lieth,  is  as  much  as  to  say 
that  he  is  brave  towards  God,  and  a  coward  towards  man ;  for  a  lie 
faces  God,  and  shrinks  from  man."  Surely  the  wickedness  of  falsehood 
and  breach  of  faith  cannot  possibly  be  so  highly  expressed  as  in  that  it 
shall  be  the  last  peal  to  call  the  judgments  of  God  upon  the  generations 
of  men :  it  being  foretold,  that  when  "  Christ  cometh,"  he  shall  not 

"  find  faith  upon  earth." 

From  " Essays" 


MENTAL  AND   MORAL   GREATNESS. 

DR.  STEVENS. 

BEHIND  the  high  altar,  in  the  cathedral  of  Cologne,  is  a  costly  shrine, 
in  which  are  placed  the  silver-gilt  coffins  of  three  kings.  The  skulls 
of  these  kings  are  crowned  with  golden  diadems,  studded  with  jewels, 


46  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

and  inscribed  with  their  names  written  in  rubies.  This  is  political 
greatness — a  skull  crowned  with  gold — a  name  written  in  rubies. 
Touching  comment  on  the  mock  greatness  and  the  fleeting  glory  of 
kings  and  statesmen ! 

And  is  not  moral  greatness  superior  to  this  ?  Is  not  a  crown  of  glory 
around  brows  that  never  die  better  than  a  diadem  of  gold  upon  a  flesh- 
less  skull  ?  Is  not  a  name,  written  with  the  finger  of  God  in  the  book 
of  life,  better  than  a  name  written  over  the  shrine  of  our  bones  with 
rubies?  Yet,  with  all  this  contest,  sense  wrestles  with  faith — and  the 
flesh  generally  gains  the  mastery  over  the  spirit,  forgetting  "  that  the 
things  which  are  seen  are  temporal,  but  the  things  which  are  not  seen 
are  eternal." 

Mental  greatness  is  nobler  than  martial  or  political  greatness..  There 
is  something  sublime  in  beholding  the  struggles  and  achievements  of  a 
great  mind.  To  see  it  silently  gather  to  itself  new  energies — new- 
forces — and  with  these  to  make  new  onsets  in  the  dominion  of  thought, 
seeking  to  rule,  an  intellectual  king,  over  its  realms.  These  sights 
are  grand,  whether  we  behold  them  in  the  philosopher,  fathoming  the 
depths  of  mind — in  the  geologist,  quarrying  out  science  from  the  rock 
and  the  fossil — or  in  the  chemist,  deducing  the  laws  of  life  and 
death  from  the  crucible  and  the  laboratory ;  whether  we  see  them 
in  the  artist,  busielTIirthe  magnificent  creations  of  the  chisel  and  the 
pencil — in  the  poet,  entering  into  the  treasure-houses  of  imagination, 
and  stringing  those  rosaries  of  thought,  the  jewelled  epic  and  the  spark- 
ling song — or  in  the  astronomer,  soaring  to  the  planets,  measuring  their 
paths — weighing  their  masses,  and  calling  them  by  their  names.  But 
after  all,  what  is  it?  A  few  systems — a  few  poems — a  few  discoveries 
— the  writing  of  a  few  names  in  rubies — and  that  is  all  of  mental 
greatness ! 

From  "  Discourse  on  Washington's  Birth-Day,"  1846. 


PACIFIC   RAILROAD. 

CALVIN  COLTON. 

THE  social  and  political  results  of  such  a  road,  such  a  universal 
path,  will  be  as  important  and  notable  as  any  yet  recorded  in  history. 
The  people  of  Asia  and  of  Europe  will  thus  be  introduced  to  each 
other,  and  made  neighbors  and  friends ;  whereas  now  they  are  almost 
total  strangers.  Universal  liberty  will  receive  a  new  stimulus  from 
this  great  construction.  America,  the  land  of  the  free,  will  then  be  in 
the  centre  of  the  world  ;  and  it  will  diffuse  the  blessings  of  freedom  to 
the  continents  and  nations  that  gird  it  round.  It  will  teach  them  the 
lessons  which  it  has  learned.  It  will  inspire  them  to  greater  things  by 
its  example.  It  will  control  the  universal  public  opinion  of  the  world 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  47 

by  its  superior  intelligence.  Such  is  to  be  the  future  of  America.  It 
is  to  rise  in  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  nations.  It  will  be  the 
greatest  of  empires.  Upon  us  the  ends  of  the  world  will  come.  Eng- 
land will  no  longer  be  the  first  maritime  power  of  the  world.  The  old 
Queen  of  the  Atlantic  will  be  surpassed  in  beauty,  freshness,  and 
power,  by  her  young  daughter,  who  is  soon  to  be  crowned  Queen  of  the 
greater  Pacific.  The  star  of  empire,  which  takes  its  way  westward,  is 
about  to  stand  still  over  the  great  and  vigorous  young  republic,  which 
the  American  citizen  is  proud  to  call  his  native  land. 

From  "  Discourse  before  tft£  American  Geographical  Society,"  1855. 


VICTOR  Huao. 

You  are  wrung  with  grief,  but  you  have  courage  and  faith.  You  do 
well,  my  friends.  Courage,  then  !  Courage  !  more  than  ever  !  As  I 
have  already  said,  it  grows  more  evident,  from  day  to  day,  that,  at  this 
instant,  France  and  England  have  left  to  them  but  one  path,  one  outlet 
of  safety — the  emancipation  of  the  peoples — the  insurrection  in  mass 
of  the  prostrate  nationalities — the  REVOLUTION  !  Sublime  alternative  ! 
It  is  grand  that  safety  has  become  identified  with  justice.  It  is  in  this 
that  Providence  breaks  forth  in  splendor.  Ay,  have  courage,  more 
than  ever.  In  the  hour  of  utmost  peril  Danton  exclaimed,  "  Daring ! 
daring!  and  yet  more  daring!"  In  adversity  we  should  ery  out, 
"  Hope  !  hope !  and  still  more  hope  I"  Friends  and  brothers  !  the  great 
republic,  the  democratic,  social,  and  free  republic,  will,  ere  long,  blaze 
out  in  magnificence  again  ;  for  it  is  the  office  of  the  empire  to  give  it  a 
new  birth,  as  it  is  the  office  of  the  night  to  usher  in  the  day.  These 
men  of  tyranny  and  misery  will  disappear.  Their  time  to  stay  is  now 
counted  by  quick  minutes.  They  are  backing  to  the  edge  of  the  abyss, 
and  we,  who  are  already  in  the  gulf,  can  see  their  heels  that  quiver 
already  beyond  the  borders  of  the  precipice.  Oh,  exiles !  I  call  forth 
in  testimony  the  hemlock  the  Socrates  have  drank;  the  Golgothas  the 
Christs  have  climbed  ;  the  Jerichos  the  Joshuas  have  caused  to  crumble. 
I  summon  up  in  testimony  the  baths  of  blood  taken  by  the  Thraseas  ; 
the  faggots  whence  John  Huss,  and  those  of  this  world  like  him,  have 
cried,  the  swan  will  yet  be  born  !  I  summon  in  testimony  these  seas 
that  beat  around  us,  and  which  the  Columbuses  have  passed  beyond  ; 
I  call  upon  yonder  stars  which  shine  above  us,  and  which  the  Galileos 
have  questioned,  to  bear  witness,  exiles  and  brethren,  that  liberty  can 
never  die  :  she  is  immortal,  and,  exiles,  Truth  is  eternal ! 

Progress  is  the  very  stride  of  God. 

Then  let  those  who  weep  be  comforted !  and  those  who  tremble,  if 


48  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

any  such  there  be  among  us,  be  assured.     Humanity  ignores  self 
murder,  and  God  lays  not  aside  his  omnipotent  control. 

No,  the  peoples  shall  not  for  ever  grope  in  darkness,  knowing  not 
what  hour  has  been  reached  in  science,  what  hour  in  philosophy,  what 
hour  in  art,  what  hour  in  human  mind,  and,  with  their  eyes  fixed  npon 
despotism,  that  black  dial  of  gloom  on  which  the  double  needle,  at 
once  sword  and  sceptre,  for  ever  motionless,  for  ever  marks  Midnight. 

From  "  Speech  <m  the  Anniversary  of  the  French  Revolution,"  1848. 


GOLDEN   GKAIN. 

^EDWARD  EVERETT. 

GOLD,  while  it  is  gold,  is  good  for  little  or  nothing.  You  can  neither 
eat  it,  nor  drink  it,  nor  smoke  it.  You  can  neither  wear  it,  nor  burn 
it  as  fuel,  nor  build  a  house  with  it ;  it  is  really  useless  till  you  exchange 
it  for  consumable,  perishable  goods ;  and  the  more  plentiful  it  is  the 
less  its  exchangeable  value.  Far  different  the  case  with  our  Atlantic 
gold ;  it  does  not  perish  when  consumed,  but,  by  a  nobler  alchemy 
than  that  of  Paracelsus,  is  transmuted  in  consumption  to  a  higher  life. 
"  Perish  in  consumption/'  did  the  old  miser  say  ?  "  Thou  fool,  that 
which  thou  sowest  is  not  quickened  except  it  die."  The  burning  pen 
of  inspiration,  ranging  heaven  and  earth  for  a  similitude,  to  convey  to 
our  poor  minds  some  not  inadequate  idea  of  the  mighty  doctrine  of  the 
resurrection,  can  find  no  symbol  so  expressive  as  "  bare  grain,  it  may 
chance  of  wheat  or  some  other  grain."  To-day  a  senseless  plant,  to- 
morrow it  is  human  bpne  and  muscle,  vein  and  artery,  sinew  and 
nerve ;  beating  pulse,  heaving  lungs,  toiling,  ah,  sometimes,  overtoiling 
brain.  Last  June,  it  sucked  from  the  cold  breast  of  the  earth  the 
watery  nourishment  of  its  distending  sap-vessels ;  an*d  now  it  clothes 
the  manly  form  with  warm,  cordial  flesh ;  quivers  and  thrills  with  the 
five-fold  mystery  of  sense  ;  purveys  and  ministers  to  the  higher  mystery 
of  thought.  Heaped  up  in  your  granaries  this  week,  the  next  it  will 
strike  in  the  stalwart  arm,  and  glow  in  the  blushing  cheek,  and  flash 
in  the  beaming  eye ;  till  we  learn  at  last  to  realize  that  the  slender 
stalk,  which  we  have  seen  shaken  by  the  summer  breeze,  bending  in 
the  corn-field  under  the  yellow  burden  of  harvest,  is  indeed  the  "  staff 
of  life,"  which,  since  the  world  began,  has  supported  the  toiling  and 
struggling  myriads  of  humanity  on  the  mighty  pilgrimage  of  being. 

From  "  Speech  before  U.  S.  Agricultural  Society,"  1854. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  49 

THE   NEW   OLYMPIAD. 

MORTON  MCMICHAEL. 

BUT,  Mr.  President,  on  a  new  continent,  under  a  new  dispensation, 
and  a  new  polity — professors  of  a  purer  creqd,  possessors  of  a  surer 
heritage — we  have  to-day  commemorated  a  new  Olympiad.  From  all 
parts  of  a  republic,  mightier  in  its  infancy  than  Athens  in  its  prime, 
there  have  crowded  earnest  candidates  for  the  honors,  valiant  strugglers 
for  the  prizes  you  have  had  to  bestow.  Nor  have  the  statue  and  temple 
been  wanting.  Beneath  the  dome  of  your  capitol  we  have  marked  the 
placid  dignity  of  our  Pater  Patrise,  whose  deeds  and  whose  virtues  shall 
survive  in  the  affections  of  distant  generations,  when  the  old  mythology, 
father-god  and  all,  with  all  its  vanities  and  vices,  has  sunk  into  utter 
oblivion.  From  the  foot  of  a  neighboring  eminence,  we  have  gazed  on 
the  simple  column  which  crowns  the  spot  consecrated  by  the  blood  of 
the  primitive  martyrs  of  American  freedom — a  column  which,  simple 
though  it  be,  is  dearer  in  the  associations  which  cluster  around  it,  than 
any  hoary  pile,  no  matter  how  venerable  in  its  antiquity,  nobler  than 
any  modern  trophy, 

"  Built  with  the  riches  of  a  spoiled  world." 

And,  Mr.  President,  whatever  of  pride  the  cultivated  Greek  may 
have  felt  in  contemplating  the  master-piece  of  Grecian  skill — whatever 
of  reverence  the  pious  Greek  may  have  felt  in  contemplating  the  master 
deity  of  the  Grecian  Pantheon — we,  who  are  now  assembled  from  the 
north  and  the  south,  from  the  east  and  the  west,  have  felt  a  loftier  pride? 
a  holier  reverence  than  ever  Olympian  statue  or  Olympian  temple 
inspired,  as,  filled  with  the  solemn  memories  of  the  past,  and  jubilant 
hopes  of  the  future,  we  have  stood  before  the  marble  form  of  our  own 
Washington,  or  beside  the  granite  monument  that  records  the  story  of 
Bunker  Hill. 

From  "  Speech  at  Boston,  before  U.  S.  Agricultural  Society,"  1854. 


THE   PRESERVATION   OF   THE   UNION. 

EDWARD  EVERETT. 

SHALL  we  permit  this  curiously  compacted  body  politic,  the  nicest 
adjustment  of  human  wisdom,  to  go  to  pieces?  Will  we  blast  this 
beautiful  symmetric  form  ;  paralyze  this  powerful  arm  of  public 
strength  ;  smite  with  imbecility  this  great  National  Intellect?  Where, 
sir,  0  where,  will  be  the  flag  of  the  United  States  ?  Where  our  rapidly, 
increasing  influence  in  the  family  of  nations?  Already  they  are 
rejoicing  in  our  divisions.  The  last  foreign  journal  which  I  have 
read,  dwells  upon  our  political  condition  as  something  that  "  will 
5  D 


50  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

compel  us  to  keep  the  peace  with  the  powers  of  Europe,"  and  that 
means,  to  take  the  law  from  them  in  our  international  relations. 

I  meant  to  have  spoken  of  the  wreck  of  that  magnificent  and  mutu- 
ally-beneficial commercial  intercourse  which  now  exists  between  the 
producing  and  manufacturing  states ; — of  the  hostile  tariffs  in  time  of 
peace  and  the  habitually-recurring  border  wars,  by  which  it  will  be 
annihilated.  I  meant  to  have  said  a  word  of  the  Navy  of  the  United 
States ;  and  the  rich  inheritance  of  its  common  glories.  Shall  we  give 
up  this  ?  The  memory  of  our  Fathers — of  those  happy  days  when  the 
men  of  the  North  and  South  stood  together  for  the  country,  on  hard- 
fought  fields  ;  when  the  South  sent  her  Washington  to  Massachusetts, 
and  New  England  sent  her  Greene  to  Carolina — is  all  this  forgotten  ? 
"  Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shared  ;"  all  the  joint  labors  to 
found  this  great  Republic  ; — is  this  "all  forgot?"  and  will  we  permit 
this  last  great  experiment  of  Confederate  Republicanism,  to  become  a 
proverb  and  a  by-word  to  the  Nations  ?  No,  fellow-citizens — no,  a 
thousand  times  nq  !  This  glorious  Union  shall  not  perish  !  Precious 
legacy  of  our  Fathers,  it  shall  go  down,  honored  and!  cherished,  to  our 
children.  Generations  unborn  shall  enjoy  its  privileges  as  we  have 
done  ;  and  if  we  leave  them  poor  in  all  besides,  we  will  transmit  to 
them  the  boundless  wealth  of  its  blessings ! 

From  "  Speech  at  Faneuil  Hatt,"  1859. 


THE   SONS   OF   GEORGIA. 

BISHOP  ELLIOT. 

FOR  the  first  time  in  her  history,  may  Georgia  now  look  for  a  native 
population — a  population  born  upon  her  soil  and  loving  her  because 
they  call  her  mother.  Not  that  those  who  have  emigrated  into  her  do 
not  love  her — many  of  her  most  faithful  and  devoted  public  servants 
come  within  this  category — but  nothing  can  replace  the  peculiar  feeling 
which  man  sucks  in  with  his  mother's  milk  for  the  spot  where  first  he 
breathed  the  air  of  Heaven.  Those  who  have  come  into  her  may  feel 
themselves  identified  with  her,  so  that  her  interest  is  their  interest,  but, 
strive  as  they  may,  they  cannot  acquire  that  enthusiastic  love — made 
up  of  moral  sentiment  and  youthful  association — which  springs  out  of 
an  identity  as  well  of  lineage,  as  of  pursuit.  The  Greeks  expressed 
this  feeling  when  they  gloried  in  being  "  auro%6ov£s,"  sons  of  the  soil, 
and  felt  that  a  stain  upon  their  country  was  a  stain  upon  a  mother's 
reputation,  and  a  reproach  to  her  an  insult  that  went  to  their  hearts  as 
to  the  hearts  of  children.  This  is  what  Georgia,  for  years  to  come, 
should  especially  cultivate — this  feeling  of  homebred  affection — the  say- 
ing of  her  sons,  "This  is  my  own,  my  native  land,"  and  not  only  say- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  51 

ing  it,  but  living  it  in  thought  and  word  and  action.  It  has  been 
impossible  for  her  hitherto  to  have  possessed  it  in  her  length  and 
breadth,  but  now  she  may,  and  now  she  will,  and  it  must  give  her  an 
impulse  that  shall  show  her  sister  States  that  she  is  "  as  a  giant  awak- 
ing out  of  sleep."  Let  her  sons  but  lock  their  shields  together,  and 
nothing  can  impede  her  progress  to  greatness  ! 

From  "  Address  before  the  Georgia  Historical  Society,"  1844. 


ART. 

HENRY  REED. 

WHAT  has  been  done  by  one  branch  of  art  for  the  memory  of 
Washington,  is  shown  by  the  standard  portrait  of  him  by  Stuart,  but 
for  the  purest  sublimities  which  art  can  teach,  we  turn  to  the  more 
ideal  and  imaginative  work  of  the  sculptor.  I  remember  having  seen 
Greenough's  statue  of  Washington,  as  it  is  placed  facing  the  Capitol, 
for  the  first  time  in  the  early  morn  of  a  bright  spring  day.  There  was 
no  trivial  noise — no  intrusive  criticism  to  disturb  the  solemn  impression 
it  is  fitted  to  give.  The  eye  seemed  to  reject  all  sensations  save  what 
came  from  the  unclouded  sky  and  from  the  spotless  marble — a  harmony 
rather  than  a  contrast,  and  the  things  of  earth  had  no  part  in  it.  In 
that  ideal  portraiture  the  moral  of  the  character — the  history  of  the 
life  in  its  marvellous  integrity  and  with  its  perfect  consummation,  was 
visible — the  one  hand  laying  down,  as  if  at  his  country's  feet,  the 
sheathed  sword,  and  the  other  pointing  to  the  sky.  There  was  nothing 
between  the  finger  of  that  uplifted  arm  and  the  highest  heavens ;  and 
as  the  imagination  of  the  spectator  was  thus  carried  upward,  you  could 
not  but  feel  that  no  cloud  of  mortal  passion  had  ever  dimmed  the  glory 
of  the  character  here  idealized  in  marble,  and  that  that  soul  had  risen 
above  the  strife  of  self-will  and  the  tumult  of  human  frailties,  into  the 
serene  atmosphere  of  duty  and  of  Christian  heroism.  Thus  is  it  that 
the  sculptor's  genius  has  its  triumph  ;  and  casting  away  the  self-hurtful 
temper  of  narrow  and  disputatious  criticism,  we  may  render  thoughtful 
gratitude  to  the  njoral  beauty  and  power  of  art. 

From  "  Address  before  Philadelphia  Art  Union,"  1849. 


THE   GEE  AT   MOUNTAINS. 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 


INFERIOR  hills  ordinarily  interrupt,  in  some  degree,  the  richness  of 
the  valleys  at  their  feet ;  the  gray  downs  of  southern  England,  and 
treeless  cSteaux  of  central  France,  and  gray  swells  of  Scottish  moor, 
whatever  peculiar  charm  they  may  possess  in  themselves,  are  at  leas*; 


52  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

destitute  of  those  which  belong  to  the  woods  and  fields  of  the  Lowlands. 
But  the  great  mountains  lift  the  lowlands  on  their  sides.  Let  the 
reader  imagine,  first,  the  appearance  of  the  most  varied  plain  of  some 
richly  cultivated  country  ;  let  him  imagine  it  dark  with  graceful  woods, 
and  soft  with  deepest  pastures  ;  let  him  fill  the  space  of  it,  to  the  utmost 
horizon,  with  innumerable  and  changeful  incidents  of  scenery  and  life  ; 
leading  pleasant  streamlets  through  its  meadows,  strewing  clusters  of 
cottages  beside  their  banks,  tracing  sweet  footpaths  through  its  avenues, 
and  animating  its  fields  with  happy  flocks,  and  slow  wandering  spots 
of  cattle;  and  when  he  has  wearied  himself  with  endless  imagining, 
and  left  no  space  without  some  loveliness  of  its  own,  let  him  conceive  all 
this  great  plain,  with  its  infinite  treasures  of  natural  beauty  and  happy 
human  life,  gathered  up  in  God's  hands  from  one  edge  of  the  horizon 
to  the  other,  like  a  woven  garment ;  and  shaken  into  deep  falling  folds, 
as  the  robes  droop  from  a  king's  shoulders  ;  all  its  bright  rivers  leaping 
into  cataracts  along  the  hollows  of  its  fall,  and  all  its  forests  rearing 
themselves  aslant  against  its  slopes,  as  a  rider  rears  himself  back  when 
his  horse  plunges ;  and  all  its  villages  nestling  themselves  into  the  new 
windings  of  its  glens ;  and  all  its  pastures  thrown  into  steep  waves  of 
greensward,  dashed  with  dew  along  the  edges  of  their  folds,  and  sweep- 
ing down  into  endless  slopes,  with  a  cloud  here  and  there  lying  quietly, 
half  on  the  grass,  half  in  the  air ;  and  he  will  have  as  yet,  in  all  this 
lifted  world,  only  the  foundation  of  one  of  the  great  Alps.  And  what- 
ever is  lovely  in  the  lowland  scenery  becomes  lovelier  in  this  change : 
the  trees  which  grew  heavily  and  stiifly  from  the  level  line  of  plain 
assume  strange  curves  of  strength  and  grace  as  they  bend  themselves 
against  the  mountain  side ;  they  breathe  more  freely,  and  toss  their 
branches  more  carelessly  as  each  climbs  higher,  looking  to  the  clear 
light  above  the  topmost  leaves  of  its  brother  tree ;  the  flowers  which  on 
the  arable  plain  fell  before  the  plough,  now  find  out  for  themselves 
unapproachable  places,  where  year  by  year  they  gather  into  happier 
fellowship,  and  fear  no  evil ;  and  the  streams  which  in  the  level  land 
crept  in  dark  eddies  by  unwholesome  banks,  now  move  in  showers  of 
silver,  and  are  clothed  with  rainbows,  and  bring  health  and  life  wher- 
ever the  glance  of  their  waves  can  reach. 

From  "  Modern  Painters." 


DUTIES. 

JAMES  WALKER,  D.  D. 

THE  spirits  of  the  sainted  dead,  who  consecrated  this  school  of  the 
prophets  to  Christ  and  the  Church,  hover  over  us  now.  In  that  pre- 
sence remember  what  you  owe  to  your  parents  and  friends,  whose  affec-s 
tions  and  pride,  whose  very  life,  are  bound  up  with  the  hope  of  your 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  53 


well-doing.  Kemember  what  you  owe  to  your  country.  If  there  is 
not  wisdom  enough,  if  there  is  not  moderation  enough,  in  the  educated, 
classes,  to  restrain  the  heats  of  party,— the  violence,  the  inconsidera- 
tion,  the  injustice  on  all  sides, — our  best  hopes  are  in  imminent  peril. 
What  is  wanted  is,  not  that  a  man  should  be  indifferent  to  the  evils  in 
the  country,  but  that  he  should  deal  with  them  in  the  spirit  of  one  who 
loves  his  country.  Remember  what  you  owe  to  God.  All  the  distinc- 
tions of  birth,  and  wealth,  and  intellect  will  pass  away :  what  will 
endure  for  ever  of  your  labors  here,  is  the  earnest  purpose  to  fulfil  the 
high  vocation  of  the  Christian  scholar.  "  This  also  we  humbly  and 
earnestly  beg,  that  human  things  may  not  prejudice  such  as  are  divine  ; 
neither  that  from  the  unlocking  of  the  gates  of  sense,  and  the  kindling 
of  a  greater  natural  light,  anything  of  incredulity,  or  intellectual  night, 
may  arise  in  our  minds  towards  divine  mysteries.  But  rather,  that  by 
our  mind,  thoroughly  cleansed  and  purged  from  fancy  and  vanities, 
and  yet  subject  and  perfectly  given  up  to  the  Divine  Oracles,  there  may 
be  given  unto  faith  the  things  that  are  faith's." 

From  "  Inaugural  Address  at  Harvard." 


CALVERT  AND  THE   MARYLAND   CHARTER. 

WILLIAM  GEORGE  READ. 

FROM  Jamestown,  Calvert  turned  towards  the  unoccupied  territory, 
which  borders  the  majestic  Chesapeake,  to  the  north  of  the  Potomac. 
The  enterprise  of  Smith  and  others  had  already  partially  explored  its 
and  disclosed  its  extent,  fertility,  and  beauty.  No  European  settlement 
had  as  yet  been  established  there ;  and  the  rights  of  the  British  crown, 
as  recognised  in  the  international  law  of  Europe,  to  countries  occupied 
only  by  savages,  had  been  revested  by  the  cancelling  of  the  old  Vir- 
ginia charter.  State  policy,  therefore,  as  well  as  regard  for  Calvert, 
whose  moderation  and  sincerity  seem  to  have  conciliated  universal 
esteem,  dictated  compliance  with  his  petition  for  a  grant ;  of  which  the 
terms  were  left  to  be  adjusted  by  himself.  The  charter  of  Maryland, 
the  undoubted  production  of  his  pen,  is  th*e  fair  and  lasting  monument 
of  his  wisdom  and  his  virtues.  His  military  exploit  may  be  lost  in  the 
blinding  blaze  of  England's  martial  glory ;  his  sacrifices  to  conviction 
may  be  merged  in  those  of  her  myriad  martyrs ;  but  his  charter  shall 
endure  on  our  statute  book,  so  long  as  the  blue  firmament  of  the  Ame- 
rican nag  shall  sparkle  with  the  brilliant  beams  of  the  Maryland  star ! 
From  "An  Oration  on  the  Anniversary  of  the  Settlement  of  Maryland,"  1842. 

5* 


54  THE    SELECT   ACADEMIC   SPEAKER. 

THE   FINITE   AND  THE  INFINITE. 

ROBERT  C.  WINTHROP. 

LET  men  lift  their  vast  reflectors  or  refractors  to  the  skies,  and  detect 
new  planets  in  their  hiding-places.  Let  them  waylay  the  fugitive 
comets  in  their  flight,  and  compel  them  to  disclose  the  precise  period 
of  their  orbits,  and  to  give  bonds  for  their  punctual  return.  Let  them 
drag  out  reluctant  satellites  from  "their  habitual  concealments."  Let 
them  resolve  the  unresolvable  nebulae  of  Orion  or  Andromeda.  They 
need  not  fear.  The  sky  will  not  fall,  nor  a  single  star  be  shaken  from 
its  sphere. 

Let  them  perfect  and  elaborate  their  marvellous  processes  for  making 
the  light  and  the  lightning  their  ministers,  for  putting  "  a  pencil  of 
rays"  into  the  hand  of  art,  and  providing  tongues  of  fire  for  the  com- 
munication of  intelligence.  Let  them  foretell  the  path  of  the  whirl- 
wind, and  calculate  the  orbit  of  the  storm.  Let  them  hang  out  their 
gigantic  pendulums,  and  make  the  earth  do  the  work  of  describing 
and  measuring  her  own  motions.  Let  them  annihilate  human  pain, 
and  literally  "charm  ache  with  air,  and  agony  with  ether."  The 
blessing  of  God  will  attend  all  their  toils,  and  the  gratitude  of  man  will 
await  all  their  triumphs. 

Let  them  dig  down  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  Let  them  rive 
asunder  the  massive  rocks,  and  unfold  the  history  of  creation  as  it  lies 
written  on  the  pages  of  their  piled-up  strata.  Let  them  gather  up  the 
fossil  fragments  of  a  lost  Fauna,  reproducing  the  ancient  forms  which 
inhabited  the  land  or  the  seas,  bringing  them  together,  bone  to  his 
bone,  till  Leviathan  and  Behemoth  stand  before  us  in  bodily  presence 
and  in  their  full  proportions,  and  we  almost  tremble  lest  these  dry 
bones  should  live  again !  Let  them  put  nature  to  the  rack,  and  tor- 
ture her,  in  all  her  forms,  to  the  betrayal  of  her  inmost  secrets  and 
confidences.  They  need  not  forbear.  The  foundations  of  the  round 
world  have  been  laid  so  strong  that  they  cannot  be  moved. 

But  let  them  not  think  by  searching  to  find  out  God.  Let  them  not 
dream  of  understanding  the  Almighty  to  perfection.  Let  them  not 
dare  to  apply  their  tests  and  solvents,  their  modes  of  analysis  or  their 
terms  of  definition,  to4he  secrets  of  the  spiritual  kingdom.  Let  them 
spare  the  foundations  of  faith.  Let  them  be  satisfied  with  what  is 
revealed  of  the  mysteries  of  the  Divine  Nature.  Let  them  not  break 
through  the  bounds  to  gaze  after  the  Invisible. — lest  the  day  come 
•when  they  shall  be  ready  to  cry  to  the  mountains,  Fall  on  us,  and  to 
the  hills,  Cover  us  ! 

From  "Address  before  the  Alumni  of  Harvard,"  1852 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  55 

FLORENCE   AND  ITS  TREASURES. 

EDWARD  EVERETT. 

THERE  is  much,  in  every  way,  in  the  city  of  Florence  to  excite  the 
curiosity,  to  kindle  the  imagination,  and  to  gratify  the  taste.  Sheltered 
on  the  north  by  the  vine-clad  hills  of  Fiesole,  whose  Cyclopean  walls 
carry  back  the  antiquary  to  ages  before  the  Roman,  before  the  Etruscan 
power,  the  flowery  city  (Fiorenza)  covers  the  sunny  banks  of  the  Arno 
with  its  stately  palaces.  Dark  and  frowning  piles  of  mediaeval  struc- 
tures, a  majestic  dome  the  prototype  of  St.  Peter's,  basilicas  which 
enshrine  the  ashes  of  some  of  the  mightiest  of  the  dead,  the  stone 
where  Dante  stood  to  gaze  on  the  campanile,  the  house  of  Michael 
Angelo  still  occupied  by  a  descendant  of  his  lineage  and  name ;  his 
hammer,  his  chisel,  his  dividers,  his  manuscript  poems,  all  as  if  he  had 
left  them  but  yesterday ;  airy  bridges  which  seem  not  so  much  to  rest 
on  the  earth  as  to  .hover  over  the  waters  they  span ;  the  loveliest  crea- 
tions of  ancient  art,  rescued  from  the  grave  of  ages  again  to  "  enchant 
the  world ;"  the  breathing  marbles  of  Michael  Angelo,  the  glowing 
canvas  of  Raphael  and  Titian  ;  museums  filled  with  medals  and  coins 
of  every  age  from  Cyrus  the  Younger,  and  gems  and  amulets  a»d 
vases  from  the  sepulchres  of  Egyptian  Pharaohs  coeval  with  Joseph, 
and  Etruscan  Lucumons  that  swayed  Italy  before  the  Romans ;  libraries 
stored  with  the  choicest  texts  of  ancient  literature  ;  gardens  of  rose  and 
orange  and  pomegranate  and  myrtle ;  the  very  air  you  breathe  languid 
with  music  and  perfume — such  is  Florence. 

But  among  all  its  fascinations  addressed  to  the  sense,  the  memory, 
and  the  heart,  there  was  none  tb  which  I  more  frequently  gave  a 
meditative  hour  during  a  year's  residence,  than  to  the  spot  where 
Galileo  Galilei  sleeps  beneath  the  marble  floor  of  Santa  Croce ;  no 
building  on  which  I  gazed  with  greater  reverence,  than  I  did  upon  the 
modest  mansion  at  Arcetri,  villa  at  once  and  prison,  in  which  that 
venerable  sage,  by  command  of  the  Inquisition,  passed  the  sad  closing 

years  of  his  life. 

From  "Discourse  at  Albany,"  1856. 


TOLERANT   CHRISTIANITY  THE   LAW   OF  THE   LAND. 

DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

GENERAL  principles  and  public  policy  are  sometimes  established  by 
constitutional  provisions,  sometimes  by  legislative  enactments,  some- 
times by  judicial  decisions,  and  sometimes  by  general  consent.  But 
how,  or  when  it  may  be  established,  there  is  nothing  that  we  look  for 
with  more  certainty  than  this  general  principle,  that  Christianity  is 
part  of  the  law  of  the  land.  This  was  the  case  among  the  Puritans  of 


56  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

England,  the  Episcopalians  of  the  Southern  States,  the  Pennsylvania 
Quakers,  the  Baptists,  the  mass  of  the  followers  of  Whitfield  and 
Wesley,  and  the  Presbyterians — all — all  brought  and  all  adopted  this 
great  truth — and  all  have  sustained  it.  And  where  there  is  any  reli- 
gious sentiment  amongst  men  at  all,  this  sentiment  incorporates  itself 
with  the  law.  Everything  declares  it!  The  massive  Cathedral  of  tV"> 
Catholic  ;  the  Episcopalian  Church,  with  its  lofty  spire  pointing  heaven- 
ward ;  the  plain  temple  of  the  Quaker ;  the  log  church  of  the  hardy 
pioneer  of  the  wilderness ;  the  mementos  and  memorials  around  and 
about  us — the  graveyards — their  tombstones  and  epitaphs  —  their 
silent  vaults — -their  mouldering  contents — all  attest  it.  The  dead  prove 
it  as  well  as  the  living !  The  generation  that  is  gone  before  speak  to  it, 
and  prtmounce  it  from  the  tomb  !  We  feel  it !  All,  all,  proclaim  that 
Christianity — general,  tolerant  Christianity — Christianity  independent 
of  sects  and  parties — that  Christianity  to  which  the  sword  and  the 
faggot  are  unknown — general,  tolerant  Christianity,  is  the  law  of  the 
land! 

From  "An  Argument  in  favor  of  Religious  Instruction,"  1844. 


THE   OBSTACLES   TO   CHKISTIANITY. 

STEPHEN  COLWELL. 

WE  believe  that  the  outward  manifestations  of  Christianity  do  not 
keep  up  with  the  circumstances  of  the  age  in  which  we  live,  nor  with 
its  intelligence ;  and,  above  all,  they  do  not  correspond  to  the  oppor- 
tunities and  privileges  of  the  land  in  which  we  live.  In  every  age 
since  the  Christian  era,  and  in  every  country,  there  have  been  circum- 
stances, external  or  internal,  in  the  condition  of  the  people,  which  have 
prevented  the  free  expansion  and  proper  growth  of  Christianity.  Some- 
times it  has  been  a  defective  ecclesiastical  system,  sometimes  the 
repressive  character  of  the  temporal  governments  and  the  superstition 
or  improper  education  of  the  people ;  but  now  at  this  day  and  in  this 
country,  the  Christian — whether  statesman,  man  of  science,  or  philoso- 
pher— may  look  in  what  direction  and  pursue  what  line  of  inquiry, 
religious  or  social,  he  pleases,  when  he  is  considering  how  he  can  most 
promote  the  interests  of  Christianity  and  the  temporal  well-being  of 
his  fellow-men. 

From  "  The  Position  of  Christianity  in  the  United  State* " 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  57 

CHRISTIAN   COURAGE. 

WILLIAM  C.  RIVES. 

COURAGE,  gentlemen,  exerted  in  a  good  cause  and  sustained  by  right 
principles,  is  one  of  the  noblest  attributes  of  humanity.  The  adver- 
saries of  Christianity,  from  Celsus  down  to  Hume,  have  sought  to  assail 
it  by  imputing  to  it  a  want  of  courage  as  a  necessary  consequence  of 
its  doctrines  of  humility  and  forbearance.  Strange  that  one  of  its 
champions,  and  in  other  respects  one  of  its  ablest  champions,  should 
sanction  the  unjust  reproach  by  exhibiting  the  same  misconceived  view 
of  the  holy  cause  he  defends !  Humility  before  God  is  the  highest 
boldness  towards  man.  Christ  himself,  while  inculcating  the  fear  of 
God,  solemnly  warns  his  disciples,  whom  again  he  calls  friends,  to  dis- 
card all  fear  of  man :  "  I  say  unto  you,  my  friends,  be  not  afraid  of  them 
that  kill  the  body,  and  after  that  have  no  more  that  they  can  do ;  but 
I  will  forewarn  you  whom  ye  shall  fear :  Fear  Him  which,  after  he 
hath  killed,  hath  power  to  cast  into  hell;  yea,  I  say  unto  you,  fear 
him."  A  religion  which  teaches  its  followers  to  regard  all  temporal 
possessions,  even  the  most  cherished,  as  of  but  little  worth  compared 
with  the  great  interests  of  eternity — to  "  count  life  itself  as  not  dear, 
so  that  they  may  finish  their  course  with  joy" — which  holds  out  its 
high  rewards  in  another  and  never-ending  life — which  enjoins  every- 
thing to  be  done  and  suffered  for  conscience'  sake :  such  a  religion  must 
needs  be  the  parent  and  nurse  of  the  loftiest  courage  in  whatever  cause 
is  sanctified  by  a  sense  of  duty. 

From  "Discourse  before  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  at  Richmond,"  1855. 


THE   DEMON   OF   SPECULATION. 

DR.  BOARDMAN. 

THE  demon  of  speculation  has  seized  not  upon  the  mercantile,  but 
the  railroad  interest  of  the  country  ;  and  found  or  made  willing  instru- 
ments for  the  achievement  of  his  purposes.  When  the  probe  came  to 
be  applied,  one  corporation  after  another  was  discovered  to  be  a 
stupendous  engine  of  fraud.  Moving 

"  In  perfect  phalanx,  to  the  Dorian  mood 
Of  flutes  and  soft  recorders/' 

they  had  carried  on  a  scheme  of  swindling  which  astonished  by  its 
vastness,  as  much  as  it  shocked  by  its  atrocity.  Individuals  were 
swindled.  Banks  were  swindled.  Municipal  corporations  were  swin- 
dled. Lies  were  spoken  with  the  same  complacency  as  though  they 
had  been  truth.  Spurious  certificates  of  stock;  fictitious  vouchers; 


58  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

made-up  schedules  of  liabilities  and  assets;  statements  which,  however 
true  in  one  sense,  were  false  in  the  sense  in  which  it  was  known  they 
would  be  understood ;  oaths  emasculated  by  mental  reservations ;  the 
whole  machinery  of  which  these  things  form  a  part,  was  put  in  requisi- 
tion, and  plied  with  consummate  tact  and  vigor.  And  when  at  length 
the  bubbles  burst,  and  the  gulfs  were  laid  open  into  which 'deluded 
capitalists  and  helpless  widows  had  been  casting  their  money,  all  confi- 
dence was  at  an  end.  Credit,  the  most  sensitive  of  all  creations  in  the 
realm  of  commerce,  locked  up  its  coffers  and  double-bolted  them.  The 
funds  which  you,  gentlemen,  should  have  had  for  your  legitimate  traffic, 
had  been  usurped  by  others  for  reckless  speculation  or  were  now  placed 
beyond  your  reach  for  safe-keeping.  And  the  whole  force  of  this 
Titanic  villany  came  down  with  a  terrific  crash  upon  your  ranks,  who 
had  had  so  little  agency  in  nurturing  it.  What  wonder  if  some  should 
have  been  swept  away  by  the  avalanche !  The  only  marvel  is,  that  its 
ravages  have  been  so  restricted. 

From  "Address  before  the  Merchants9  Fund,"  1855. 


THE  INFLUENCE   OF   THE   CLASSICS. 

JOSEPH  STORY. 

A  LANGUAGE  may  be  built  up  without  the  aid  of  any  foreign  mate- 
rials, and  be  at  once  flexible  for  speech  and  graceful  for  composition ; 
the  literature  of  a  nation  may  be  splendid  and  instructive,  full  of 
interest  and  beauty  in  thought  and  in  diction,  which  has  no  kindred 
with  classical  learning ;  in  the  vast  stream  of  time,  it  may  run  its  own 
current  unstained  by  the  admixture  of  surrounding  languages ;  it  may 
realize  the  ancient  fable,  "  Doris  amara  suam  non  intermisceat  undam;" 
it  may  retain  its  own  flavor,  and  its  own  bitter  saltness,  too.  But  I  do 
deny  that  such  a  national  literature  does  in  fact  exist,  in  modern  Europe, 
in  that  community  of  nations  of  which  we  form  a  part,  and  to  whose 
fortunes  and  pursuits  in  literature  and  arts  we  are  bound  by  all  our 
habits,  and  feelings,  and  interests.  There  is  not  a  single  nation  from 
the  north  to  the  south  of  Europe,  from  the  bleak  shores  of  the  Baltic 
to  the  bright  plains  of  immortal  Italy,  whose  literature  is  not  imbedded 
in  the  very  elements  of  classical  learning.  The  literature  of  England 
is,  in  an  emphatic  sense,  the  production  of  her  scholars, — of  men  who 
have  cultivated  letters  in  her  universities,  and  colleges,  and  grammar- 
schools, — of  men  who  thought  any  life  too  short,  chiefly  because  it  left 
some  relic  of  antiquity  unmastered,  and  any  other  fame  humble, 
because  it  faded  in  the  presence  of  Roman  and  Grecian  genius.  He 
who  studies  English  literature  without  the  lights  of  classical  learning, 
loses  half  the  charms  of  its  sentiments  and  style,  of  its  force  and  feel- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  59 

ings,  of  its  delicate  touches,  of  its  delightful  allusions,  of  its  illustra- 
tive associations.  Who  that  reads  the  poetry  of  Gray  does  not  feel 
that  it  is  the  refinement  of  classical  taste  which  gives  such  inexpressi- 
ble vividness  and  transparency  to  his  diction?  Who  that  reads  the 
concentrated  sense  and  melodious  versification  of  Dryden  and  Pope, 
does  not  perceive  in  them  the  disciples  of  the  old  school,  whose  genius 
was  inflamed  by  the  heroic  verse,  the  terse  satire,  and  the  playful  wit 
of  antiquity  ?  Who  that  meditates  over  the  strains  of  Milton  does  not 
feel  that  he  drank  deep 

At  "  Siloa's  brook,  that  flowed 

Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God  ;" 

that  the  fires  of  his  magnificent  mind  were  lighted  by  coals  from 
ancient  altars  ? 

From  "  Address  at  Harvard,"  1826. 


MODERN   AUTHORSHIP. 

JOSEPH  STORY. 

AUTHORS  no  longer  depend  upon  the  smiles  of  a  favored  few.  The 
patronage  of  the  great  is  no  longer  submissively  entreated  or  exultingly 
proclaimed.  Their  patrons  are  the  public :  their  readers  are  the  civil- 
ized world.  They  address  themselves  not  to  the  present  generation 
alone,  but  aspire  to  instruct  posterity.  No  blushing  dedications  seek 
an  easy  passport  to  fame,  or  flatter  the  perilous  condescension  of  pride. 
No  illuminated  letters  flourish  on  the  silky  page,  asking  admission  to 
the  courtly  drawing-room.  Authors  are  no  longer  the  humble  com- 
panions or  dependants  of  the  nobility  ;  but  they  constitute  the  chosen 
ornaments  of  society,  and  are  welcomed  to*  the  gay  circles  of  fashion 
and  the  palaces  of  princes.  Theirs  is  no  longer  an  unthrifty  vocation, 
closely  allied  to  penury ;  but  an  elevated  profession,  maintaining  its 
thousands  in  lucrative  pursuits.  It  is  not  with  them  as  it  was  in  the 
days  of  Milton,  whose  immortal  "  Paradise  Lost"  drew  five  sterling 
pounds,  with  a  contingent  of  five  more,  from  the  reluctant  bookseller. 

My  lord  Coke  would  hardly  find  good  authority,  in  our  day,  for  his 
pi-ovoking  commentary  on  the  memorable  statute  of  the  fourth  Henry, 
which  declares  that  "  none  henceforth  shall  use  to  multiply  gol<j[  or 
silver,  or  use  the  craft  of  multiplication ;"  in  which  he  gravely  enu- 
merates five  classes  of  beggars,  ending  the  catalogue,  in  his  own  quaint 
phraseology,  with  "  poetasters/'  and  repeating,  for  the  benefit  of  young 
apprentices  of  the  law,  the  sad  admonition, 

"  Saepe  pater  dixit,  Studium,  quid  inutile  tentas  ? 
Maeonidcs  riullas  ipse  reliquit  opes." 

From  "  Address  at  Harvard,"  1826. 


60  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   DEMEANOR  OF  BOOKS. 

JOHN  MILTON. 

IT  is  of  greatest  concernment  in  the  church  and  commonwealth,  to 
have  a  vigilant  eye  how  books  demean  themselves,  as  well  as  men ; 
and  thereafter  to  confine,  imprison,  and  do  sharpest  justice  on  them 
as  malefactors;  for  books  are  not  absolutely  dead  things,  but  do  con- 
tain a  progeny  of  life  in  them  to  be  as  active  as  that  soul  was  whose 
progeny  they  are ;  nay,  they  do  preserve  as  in  a  vial  the  purest  efficacy 
and  extraction  of  that  living  intellect  that  bred  them.  I  know  they 
are  as  lively,  and  as  vigorously  productive,  as  those  fabulous  dragons' 
teeth :  and  being  sown  up  and  down,  may  chance  to  spring  up  armed 
men.  And  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  unless  wariness  be  used,  as  good 
almost  kill  a  man  as  kill  a  good  book :  who  kills  a  man  kills  a  reason- 
able creature,  God's  image ;  but  he  who  destroys  a  good  book,  kills 
reason  itself,  kills  the  image  of  God,  as  it  were,  in  the  eye.  Many  a 
man  lives  a  burden  to  the  earth  ;  but  a  good  book  is  the  precious  life- 
blood  of  a  master-spirit,  embalmed  and  treasured  up  on  purpose  to  a 
life  beyond  life.  It  is  true,  no  age  can  restore  a  life,  whereof  perhaps 
there  is  no  great  loss ;  and  revolutions  of  ages  do  not  oft  recover  the 
loss  of  a  rejected  truth,  for  the  want  of  which  whole  nations  fare  the 
worse.  We  should  be  wary,  therefore,  what  persecution  we  raise 
against  the  living  labors  of  public  men,  how  we  spill  that  seasoned  life 
of  man,  preserved  and  stored  up  in  books ;  since  we  see  a  kind  of 
homicide  may  be  thus  committed,  sometimes  a  martyrdom  ;  and  if  it 
extend  to  the  whole  impression,  a  kind  of  massacre,  whereof  the  execu- 
tion ends  not  in  the  slaying  of  an  elemental  life,  but  strikes  at  the 
ethereal  and  fifth  essence,  the  breath  of  reason  itself;  slays  an  immor- 
tality rather  than  a  life. 

From  "  Areopagitica." 


NATIONAL   VIGOR. 

JOHN  MILTON. 

As  in  a  body  when  the  blood  is  fresh,  the  spirits  pure  and  vigorous, 
not  only  to  vital,  but  to  rational  faculties,  and  those  in  the  acutest  and 
the  pertest  operations  of  wit  and  subtlety,  it  argues  in  what  good  plight 
and  constitution  the  body  is ;  so  when  the  cheerfulness  of  the  people 
is  so  sprightly  up,  as  that  it  has  not  only  wherewith  to  guard  well  its 
own  freedom  and  safety,  but  to  spare,  and  to  bestow  upon  the  solidest 
and  sublimest  points  of  controversy  and  new  invention,  it  betokens  us 
not  degenerated,  nor  drooping  to  a  fatal  decay,  by  casting  off  the  old 
and  wrinkled  skin  of  corruption  to  outlive  these  pangs,  and  wax  young 
again,  entering  the  glorious  ways  of  truth  and  prosperous  virtue,  des- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  61 

tined  to  become  great  and  honorable  in  these  latter  ages.  Methinks  I 
see  in  my  mind  a  noble  and  puissant  nation  rousing  herself  like  a 
strong  man  after  sleep,  and  shaking  her  invincible  locks  :  methinks  I 
see  her  as  an  eagle  mewing  her  mighty  youth,  and  kindling  her  un- 
dazzled  eyes  at  the  full  midday  beam ;  purging  and  unsealing  her 
long-abused  sight  at  the  fountain  itself  of  heavenly  radiance ;  while 
the  whole  noise  of  timorous  and  flocking  birds,  with  those  also  that 
love  the  twilight,  flutter  about,  amazed  at  what  she  means,  and  in  their 
envious  gabble  would  prognosticate  a  year  of  sects  and  schisms. 

From  "  Areopagitica." 


ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA. 

GEORGE  P.  MARSH. 

all  countries  known  in  history,  the  North  American  republic  is 
most  conspicuously  marked  by  the  fusion,  or  rather  the  absence  of  rank 
and  social  distinctions,  by  community  of  interests,  by  incessant  and 
all-pervading  intercommunication,  by  the  universal  diffusion  of  educa- 
tion, and  the  abundant  facilities  of  access,  not  only  to  the  periodical 
conduits,  but  to  the  permanent  reservoirs  of  knowledge.  The  condition 
of  England  is  in  all  these  respects  closely  assimilated  to  that  of  the 
United  States  ;  and  not  only  the  methods,  but  the  instruments,  of  popu- 
lar instruction  are  fast  becoming  the  same  in  both ;  and  there  is  a 
growing  conviction  among  the  wise  of  the  two  great  empires,  that  the 
highest  interests  of  both  will  be  promoted  by  reciprocal  good-will  and 
unrestricted  intercourse,  perilled  by  jealousies  and  estrangement. 

Favored,  then,  by  the  mighty  elective  affinities,  the  powerful  harmonic 
attractions,  which  subsist  between  the  Americans  and  the  Englishmen 
as  brothers  of  one  blood,  one  speech,  one  faith,  we  may  reasonably 
hope  that  the  Anglican  tongue  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  as  it 
grows  in  flexibility,  comprehensiveness,  expression,  wealth,  will  also 
more  and  more  clearly  manifest  the  organic  unity  of  its  branches,  and 
that  national  jealousies,  material  rivalries,  narrow  interests,  will  not 
disjoin  and  shatter  that  great  instrument  of  social  advancement,  which 
God  made  one,  as  he  made  one  the  spirit  of  the  nations  that  use  it. 

From  "  Lectures  on  the  English  Language." 


DEGREES   OF   IMAGINATION". 

LEIGH  HUNT. 

THERE  are  different  kinds  and  degrees  of  imagination,  some  of  them 
necessary  to  the  formation  of  every  true  poet,  and  all  of  them  possessed 
by  the  greatest.     Perhaps  they  may  be  enumerated  as  follows : — First, 
6 


62  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

that  which  presents  to  the  mind  any  object  or  circumstance  in  every- 
day life;  as  when  we  imagine  a  man  holding  a  sword,  or  looking  out 
of  a  window ; — second,  that  which  presents  real,  but  not  every-day  cir- 
cumstances ;  as  King  Alfred  tending  the  loaves,  or  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
giving  up  the  water  to  the  dying  soldier  ; — third,  that  .which  combines 
character,  and  events  directly  imitated  from  real  life,  with  imitative 
realities  of  its  own  invention ;  as  the  probable  parts  of  the  histories  of 
Priam  and  Macbeth,  or  what  may  be  called  natural  fiction  as  distin- 
guished from  supernatural ; — fourth,  that  which  conjures  up  things  and 
events  not  to  be  found  in  nature ;  as  Homer's  gods,  and  Shakspeare's 
witches,  enchanted  horses  and  spears,  Ariosto's  hippogriff,  &c.  j-Mifth, 
that  which,  in  order  to  illustrate  or  aggravate  one  image,  introduces 
another;  sometimes  in  simile,  as  when  Homer  compares  Apollo  descend- 
ing in  his  wrath  at  noon-day  to  the  coming  of  night-time ;  sometimes 
in  metaphor,  or  simile  comprised  in  a  word,  as  in  Milton's  "  motes  that 
people  the  sunbeams  ;"  sometimes  in  concentrating  into  a  word  the  main 
history  of  any  person  or  thing,  past  or  even  future,  as  in  the  "  starry 
Galileo"  of  Byron,  and  that  ghastly  foregone  conclusion  of  the  epithet 
"  murdered"  applied  to  the  yet  living  victim  in  Keats's  story  from 
Boccaccio— 

So  the  two  brothers  and  their  murdered  man 
Rode  towards  fair  Florence ; — 

sometimes  in  the  attribution  of  a  certain  representative  quality  which 
makes  one  circumstance  stand  for  others ;  as  in  Milton's  grey-fly  wind- 
ing its  "  sultry  horn,"  which  epithet  contains  the  heat  of  a  summer's 
day ; — sixth,  that  which  reverses  this  process,  and  makes  a  variety  of 
circumstances  take  color  from  one,  like  nature  seen  with  jaundiced  or 
glad  eyes,  or  under  the  influence  of  storm  or  sunshine ;  as  when  in 
Lycidas,  or  the  Greek  pastoral  poets,  the  flowers  and  the  flocks  are 
made  to  sympathize  with  a  man's  death ;  or,  in  the  Italian  poet,  the 
river  flowing  by  the  sleeping  Angelica  seems  talking  of  love — 

Parea  che  1'erba  le  fiorisse  intorno, 
E  d'amor  ragionasie  quella  riva  ! — 

Orlando  Innamorato,  Canto  iii. 

or  in  the  voluptuous  homage  paid  to  the  sleeping  Imogen  by  the  very 
light  in  the  chamber,  and  the  reaction  of  her  own  beauty  upon  itself; 
or  in  the  "  witch  element"  of  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth  and  the  May-day 
night  of  Faust ; — seventh,  and  last,  that  which  by  a  single  expression, 
apparently  of  the  vaguest  kind,  not  only  meets  but  surpasses  in  its 
effect  the  extremest  force  of  the  most  particular  description. 

From  "  Imagination  and  Fancy." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  63 

THE   CATAEACT   OF  NIAGAKA. 

CHATEAUBRIAND. 

WE  arrived  at  the  brink  of  the  cataract,  which  had  before  announced 
itself  by  a  terrible  roar.  It  is  formed  by  the  river  Niagara,  which 
unites  Lake  Erie  and  Lake  Ontario.  The  height  of  the  fall  is  one 
hundred  and  forty-four  feet ;  from  Lake  Erie  to  the  precipice  the  descent 
is  quite  rapid ;  and  at  the  moment  of  the  fall,  it  is  less  a  river  than  a 
sea,  whose  whelming  torrents  press  together  as  if  into  the  hungiy 
mouth  of  a  great  gulf.  The  cataract  is  divided  into  two  branches,  and 
is  bent  like  a  horse-shoe.  Between  the  two  falls  is  a  small  island, 
which  hangs  with  all  its  trees  over  the  chaos  of  waters.  The  volume 
of  the  river  which  is  precipitated  at  the  south,  is  rounded  into  a  vast 
cylinder,  and  then  unrolls  itself  into  a  sheet  of  snow,  shining  in  the 
sunlight  with  every  variety  of  color.  That  which  falls  at  the  east  de- 
scends in  a  frightful  shadow  ;  one  might  fancy  a  column  of  water  from 
the  ancient  deluge.  A  thousand  rainbows  curve  and  mingle  in  the 
abyss.  The  wave,  as  it  strikes  the  quivering  rock,  is  thrown  back  in 
w'hirlwinds  of  foam,  which  rise  higher  than  the  forest,  like  the  smoke 
of  a  vast  furnace.  Pines,  chestnuts,  rocks  cut  into  fantastic  forms,  are 
the  decorations  of  the  scene.  Eagles,  borne  along  by  the  current  of 
air,  descend  whirling  into  the  bottom  of  the  gulf;  where  also  are  often 
found  the  broken  carcases  of  elks  and  bears. 

Translated  from  "  Le  Genie  du  CJiristianisme." 


ITALY. 

HORACE  BINNEY  WALIACE. 

AN  era  is  it  in  the  history  of  any  man,  when  for  the  first  time  he 
crosses  the  Alps.  A  sympathy  is  touched  and  developed,  that  shall 
vibrate  and  expand  for  ever.  Upon  that  soil,  we  learn  that  Imagination 
and  Sentiment  are  the  Italian  elements  of  our  nature.  All  things  seem 
ideal,  poetic,  visionary.  Splendors  that  the  northern  world  knows  only 
by  half-heavenly  flashes  that  fade  before  they  can  be  felt,  here  are 
natural  and  permanent.  From  the  valleys  and  plains  of  Italy  the  lustre 
of  summer  is  never  wholly  withdrawn,  and  winter  seems  but  a  tardier 
spring.  Elsewhere  we  have  glimpses  of  her  life  in  conservatories,  and 
when  we  enter  the  guarded  retreats  where  orange-trees  and  olives  and 
myrtles  are  garnered  up  as  creating  around  them  a  kind  of  sacred  soul- 
life,  we  say,  "  This  is  like  Italy."  Its  atmosphere  is  fragrance,  its  soil 
is  beauty,  its  canopy  a  glory  unimaginable.  Its  air  is  a  prism  to  turn 
the  common  light  into  enchantment.  What  melodies  of  color, — violet, 
rose,  purple, — roll  along  its  steeps !  Yet  the  true  fascination  of  Italy 


64  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

is  of  the  soul ;  and  the  features  of  the  scene  enjoy  our  devotion  on 
account  of  the  Spirit  that  looks  out  from  them,  and  which  they  typify. 

It  is  the  clime  of  Art, — the  temple  of  the  sacrament  of  the  material 
transfigured  into  the  spiritual, — of  the  perpetual  marriage  of  the  formal 
with  the  divine.  Life,  thought,  passion,  manners,  all  things,  partake 
of  an  aesthetic  quality.  An  ethereal  stream  of  ideal  sentiment  seems 
to  float  over  the  land  and  refract  all  perceptions,  feelings,  and  objects 
into  beautiful  outlines  and  hues. 

It  is  the  land  of  Antiquity,  the  school  of  History,  the  home  of  the 
Past.  No  time  is  recorded  when  Italy  stood  not  foremost  in  the  annals  ; 
a  scene  where  great  things  were  thought  and  wrought.  Etruscan,  Ro- 
man, Pontifical,  these  civilizations  have  succeeded  one  another,  and  no 
later  one  has  effaced  the  vestiges  of  that  which  preceded  it.  All  now 
dwell  together  ;  and  the  face  of  the  land  is  as  a  self-registering  chronicle 
of  all  that  has  been  felt  and  done  upon  its  surface.  Here,  under  the 
calm,  grave  eye  of  the  Venerable  Past,  the  Present  moves  modestly, 
and  with  self-distrust.  Here  you  may  stand  in  the  religious  presence 
of  the  Older  Day,  and  imbibe  a  temper  which  is  more  than  wisdom. 
The  active,  the  striving,  the  destructive,  we  leave  behind  when  we  cross 
the  mountains.  Existence  here  is  moral,  consultative,  intellectual.  It 
seems  like  an  Elysium,  where  life  is  fancied,  and  interests  notional ; 
the  blissful  future  state  of  an  existence  gone  by,  where  shadowy  forms 
rehearse  in  silent  show  the  deeds  that  once  resounded,  or  elsewhere  re- 
sound. It  is  a  land  where  all  is  ruin ;  but  where  ruin  itself  is  more 
splendid,  more  permanent,  and  more  vital  than  the  freshest  perfections 
of  other  countries. 

From  "Art,  Scenery,  and  Philosophy  in  Europe" 


THE   NEW   WORLD   AND   THE    OLD. 

ARNOLD  GUTOT. 

THE  comparison  we  have  made  between  the  Old  World  and  the  New, 
and  the  detailed  study  of  the  first,  have  enabled  us,  I  think,  to  deter- 
mine its  true  character,  the  character  assigned  to  it  by  its  physical 
nature.  The  character  it  owes  to  its  more  oceanic  position,  to  the  abun- 
dance of  the  waters,  to  a  more  tropical  situation,  to  a  more  fertile  soil, 
is  the  marked  preponderance  of  vegetable  life  over  animal  life.  A  vig- 
orous vegetation,  abundant  rather  than  delicate,  immense  forests,  a  soil 
everywhere  irrigated,  everywhere  productive — these  are  the  wealth  of 
America.  Nature  has  given  her  all  the  raw  materials  with  liberality ; 
has  lavished  upon  her  all  useful  gifts. 

But  our  globe  would  be  incomplete,  if  this  element  were  alone  repre- 
sented, if  this  were  the  only  world  that  existed.  One  of  the  two  worlds 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  65 

is  by  no  means  a  repetition  of  the  other ;  for  the  Author  of  all  things  is 
too  rich  in  his  conceptions  ever  to  repeat  himself  in  his  works. 

We  know  already  a  good  number  of  the  physical  characteristics  of 
the  Old  World,  an  unknown  world  to  us  no  more.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
well  to  recall  them  here,  in  order  to  group  them  in  a  single  picture, 
and  to  deduce  from  them  the  essential  and  characteristic  feature  which 
distinguishes  it  from  America. 

The  number  of  the  continents,  double^that  of  the  New  World,  their 
grouping  in  a  more  compact  and  solid  mass,  make  it  already  and  pre- 
eminently the  continental  world.  It  is  a  mighty  oak,  with  stout  and 
sturdy  trunk,  while  America  is  the  slender  and  flexible  palm-tree,  so 
dear  to  this  continent.  The  Old  World — if  it  is  allowable  to  employ 
here  comparisons  of  this  nature — calls  to  mind  the  square  and  solid 
figure  of  man  ;  America  the  lithe  shape  and  delicate  form  of  woman. 

If  America  is  distinguished  by  the  simplicity  of  its  interior  structure, 
and  by  the  consequent  unity  of  character,  the  Old  World,  on  the  contrary, 
presents  the  variety  of  structure  carried  to  its  utmost  limits.  While 
America,  as  we  have  seen,  is  constructed  upon  one  and  the  same  plan 
in  the  two  continents,  the  Old  World  has  at  least  three,  as  many  as  its 
separate  masses  ;  one  for  Asia  and  Europe,  one  for  Africa,  a  third  for 
Australia  ;  for,  in  spite  of  their  resemblance  in  certain  general  features, 
common  to  them,  as  the  law  of  the  reliefs  has  taught  us,  each  of  these 
three  continents  has  none  the  less  its  special  structure,  which  is  not  the 
same  in  Australia  as  in  Africa,  nor  in  Africa  as  in  Asia-Europe. 

The  great  mass  of  Asia-Europe,  which  may  be  well  called  a  single 
continent,  of  a  triangular  form,  whose  western  point  is  Europe — Asia- 
Europe,  by  itself,  forms  already  the  pendant  of  the  two  Americas.  Like 
the  New  World,  it  is  divided  into  two  parts  by  a  long  ridge  of  heights, 
of  mountain  chains,  and  of  table  lands,  forming  a  line  of  the  highest 
elevations,  and  the  axis  of  this  continent ;  the  Himmalaya,  the  Hindo- 
Khu,  the  Caucasus,  the  Alps,  the  Pyrenees,  are  analogous  to  the  long 
American  Cordilleras. 

This  ridge  also  divides  the  Old  World  into  two  unequal  parts,  but  is 
not  placed  on  one  of  the  edges  of  the  continents,  as  in  America.  It  is 
only  a  little  out  of  the  centre,  so  that  it  divides  the  whole  surface  into 
two  opposite  slopes,  unequal  certainly,  but  the  narrower  is  nevertheless 
considerable.  The  northern  slope  is  more  vast:  it  contains  all  the  great 
plaim?  of  the  north,  but  it  is  less  favored  by  the  climate,  and  by  the 
forms  of  the  soil.  The  southern  slope  is  less  extended,  but  it  enjoys  a 
more  beautiful  climate ;  nature  is  richer  there  ;  it  is  more  indented, 
more  variously  moulded  ;  it  possesses  all  those  fine  peninsulas,  the  two 
Indies,  Arabia,  Asia  Minor,  Greece,  Italy,  Spain,  which  form  the  wealth 
of  Asia  and  Europe.  Figure  to  yourselves  the  coasts  of  the  Pacific, 
furnished  with  a  series  of  peninsulas  of  this  description,  and  you  will 
6*  E 


66  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

have  an  idea  of  the  augmentation  of  wealth  that  would  result  to  Ame- 
rica from  such  an  addition. 

From  "  The  Earth  and  Man." 


VATHEK  IN   THE   HALL   OF   EBLIS. 

WILLIAM  BECKFORD. 

A  VOICE  announced  to  the  caliph,  Nouronihar,  the  four  princes,  and 
the  princess,  the  awful  and  irrevocable  decree.  Their  hearts  imme- 
diately took  fire,  and  they,  at  once,  lost  the  most  precious  gift  of 
heaven — HOPE.  These  unhappy  beings  recoiled,  with  looks  of  the 
most  furious  distraction.  Vathek  beheld  in  the  eyes  .of  Nouronihar 
nothing  but  rage  and  vengeance ;  nor  could  she  discern  aught  in  his, 
but  aversion  and  despair.  The  two  princes  who  were  friends,  and,  till 
that  moment,  had  preserved  their  attachment,  shrunk  back,  gnashing 
their  teeth  with  mutual  and  unchangeable  hatred.  Kalilah  and  his 
sister  made  reciprocal  gestures  of  imprecation  ;  all  testified  their  horror 
for  each  other  by  the  most  ghastly  convulsions,  and  screams  that  could 
not  be  smothered.  All  severally  plunged  themselves  into  the  accursed 
multitude,  there  to  wander  in  an  eternity  of  unabating  anguish. 

Such  was,  and  such  should  be,  the  punishment  of  unrestrained 
passions  and  atrocious  deeds  !  Such  shall  be  the  chastisement  of  that 
blind  curiosity,  which  would  transgress  those  bounds  the  wisdom  of 
the  Creator  has  prescribed  to  human  knowledge ;  and  such  the  dread- 
ful disappointment  of  that  restless  ambition,  which,  aiming  at  discove- 
ries reserved  for  beings  of  a  supernatural  order,  perceives  not,  through 
its  infatuated  pride,  that  the  condition  of  man  upon  earth  is  to  be — 
humble  and  ignorant. 

Thus  the  caliph  Vathek,  who,  for  the  sake  of  empty  pomp  and  for- 
bidden power,  had  sullied  himself  with  a  thousand  crimes,  became  a 
prey  to  grief  without  end,  and  remorse  without  mitigation  ;  whilst  the 
humble,  the  despised  Gulchenrouz  passed  whole  ages  in  undisturbed 

tranquillity,  and  in  the  pure  happiness  of  childhood. 

From  "Vathek." 


THE   DRAMATIC   AGE. 

HENRY  REED. 

THE  large  luminary  of  Spenser's  imagination  had  scarce  mounted 
high  enough  above  the  horizon  to  kindle  all  it  touched,  when  there 
arose  the  still  more  glorious  shape  of  Shakspeare's  genius,  radiant  like 
Milton's  seraph — "  another  morn  risen  on  mid-noon."  This  was  the 
wonderful  dramatic  era  in  English  letters.  Within  about  fifty  years, 
beginning  in  the  latter  part  of  the  sixteenth  century,  there  was  a  con- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  67 

course  of  dramatic  authors,  the  like  of  which  is  seen  nowhere  else  in 
literary  history.  The  central  figure  is  Shakspeare,  towering  above 
them  all;  but  there  were  there  Ben  Jonson,  and  Beaumont,  and 
Fletcher,  and  Ford,  and  a  multitude  of  whom  a  poet  has  said, — 

"  They  stood  around 
The  throne  of  Shakspeare,  sturdy,  but  unclean." 

It  is  scarce  possible,  it  seems  to  me,  to  mistake  that  this  abundant 
development  of  dramatic  poetry  was  characteristic  of  times  distin- 
guished by  the  admirable  union  of  action  and  contemplation  in  many 
of  the  illustrious  men  who  nourished  then  ;  for  instance,  Sir  Philip 
Sydney  devoting  himself  to  the  effort  of  raising  English  poetry  to  its 
true  estate,  kindling  his  heart  with  the  old  ballads,  or  drawing  the 
gentle  Spenser  forth  from  the  hermitage  of  his  modesty;  at  the  same 
time  sharing  in  affairs  of  state,  in  knights'  deeds  of  arms,  and  on  the 
field  of  battle  meeting  an  early  death, .memorable  with  its  last  deed  of 
charity,  when,  putting  away  the  cup  of  water  from  his  own  lips,  burn- 
ing with  the  thirst  of  a  bleeding  death,  he  gave  it  to  a  wounded  soldier 
with  the  words,  "  Thy  necessity  is  yet  greater  than  mine  :"  or  Raleigh 
preserving  his  love  o'f  letters  throughout  his  whole  varied  career,  at 
court,  in  camp,  or  tempest-tost  in  his  adventures  on  the  ocean.  It 
seems  to  me  that  an  age  thus  characterized  by  the  combination  of 
thought  and  deed  in  its  representative  men,  had  its  most  congenial 
literature  in  the  drama — that  form  of  poetry  which  Lord  Bacon  has 

described  as  "  history  made  visible." 

From  "English  Literature" 


CULTURE   OF   THE   ENGLISH  LANGUAGE. 

HENRY  REED. 

WE  are  living  at  a  period  when  the  language  has  attained  a  high 
degree  of  excellence,  both  in  prose  and  verse, — when  it  has  developed 
largely,  for  all  the  uses  of  language,  its  power  and  its  beauty.  It  is 
one  of  the  noblest  languages  that  the  earth  has  ever  sounded  with ;  it 
is  our  endowment,  our  inheritance,  our  trust.  It  associates  us  with  the 
wise  and  good  of  olden  times,  and  it  couples  us  with  the  kindred  peo- 
ples of  many  distant  regions.  It  is  our  duty,  therefore,  to  cultivate,  to 
cherish,  and  to  keep  it  from  corruption.  Especially  is  this  a  duty  for 
us,  who  are  spreading  that  language  over  such  vast  territory  ;  and  not 
only  that,  but  having  such  growing  facilities  of  intercommunication, 
that  the  language  is  perpetually  speeding  from  one  portion  of  the  land 
to  another  with  wondrous  rapidity,  equally  favorable  to  the  diffusion 
of  either  purity  or  corruption  of  speech,  but,  certainly,  calculated  to 
break  down  narrow  and  false  provincialisms  of  speech. 


68  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

In  the  culture  and  preservation  of  a  language,  there  are  two  princi- 
ples, deep-seated  in  the  philosophy  of  language,  which  should  be  borne 
in  mind.  One  is,  that  every  living  language  has  a  power  of  growth, 
of  expansion,  of  development ;  in  other  words,  its  life — that  which 
makes  it  a  living  language,  having  within  itself  a  power  to  supply  the 
growing  wants  and  improvements  of  a  living  people  that  uses  it.  If, 
by  any  system  of  rules,  restraint  is  put  on  this  genuine  and  healthful 
freedom,  on  this  genial  movement,  the  native  vigor  of  the  language  is 
weakened.  / 

From  "  English  Literature." 


BYRON'S  TOMB. 

WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

BYRON'S  tomb  is  in  an  old  gray  country  church,  venerable  with  the 
lapse  of  centuries.  He  lies  buried  beneath  the  pavement,  at  one  end  of 
the  principal  aisle.  A  light  falls  on  the  spot  through  the  stained  glass 
of  a  gothic  window,  and  a  tablet  on  the  adjacent  wall  announces  the 
family  vault  of  the  Byrons.  It  had  been  the  wayward  intention  of  the 
poet  to  be  entombed,  with  his  faithful  dog,  in  the  monument  erected  by 
him  in  the  garden  of  Newstead  Abbey.  His  executors  showed  better 
judgment  and  feeling,  in  consigning  his  ashes  to  the  family  sepulchre, 
to  mingle  with  those  of  his  mother  and  his  kindred.  Here, 

"  After  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well. 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing 
Can  touch  him  further  !" 

How  nearly  did  his  dying  hour  realize  the  wish  made  by  him  but  a 
few  years  previously  in  one  of  his  fitful  moods  of  melancholy  and  mis- 
anthropy : — 

"  When  time,  or  soon  or  late,  shall  bring 
The  dreamless  sleep  that  lulls  the  dead, 

Ohlivion  !  may  thy  languid  wing 
Wave  gently  o'er  my  dying  bed  ! 

No  band  of  friends  or  heirs  be  there, 

To  weep  or  wish  the  coming  blow  : 
No  maiden  with  dishevelled  hair, 

To  feel,  or  feign  decorous  woe. 

But  silent  let  me  sink  to  earth, 

With  no  officious  mourners  near; 
I  would  not  mar  one  hour  of  mirth, 

Nor  startle  friendship  with  a  fear." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  69 

He  died  among  strangers  ;  in  a  foreign  land,  without  a  kindred  hand 
to  close  his  eyes,  yet  he  did  not  die  unwept.  With  all  his  faults,  and 
errors,  and  passions,  and  caprices,  he  had  the  gift  of  attaching  his 
humble  dependants  warmly  to  him.  One  of  them,  a  poor  Greek, 
accompanied  his  remains  to  England,  and  followed  them  to  the  grave. 
I  am  told  that,  during  the  ceremony,  he  stood  holding  on  by  a  pew  in 
an  agony  of  grief,  and,  when  all  was  over,  seemed  as  if  he  would  have 
gone  down  into  the  tomb  with  the  body  of  his  master.  A  nature  that 
could  inspire  such  attachments  must  have  been  generous  and  beneficent. 

From  "  Newstead  Abbey." 


ADDEESS   OF   NICIAS   TO   HIS   TEOOPS. 

THUCYDIDES. 

ATHENIANS,  I  must  remind  you  that  you  left  behind  you  no  more  such 
ships  in  your  docks,  nor  so  fine  a  body  of  heavy-armed  troops  ;  and  that, 
if  anything  else  befall  you  but  victory,  your  enemies  here  will  imme- 
diately sail  thither,  and  those  of  our  countrymen  who  are  left  behind 
there  will  be  unable  to  defend  themselves  against  both  their  opponents 
on  the  spot  and  those  who  will  join  them  ;  and  thus,  at  the  same  time, 
you  who  are  here  will  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  Syracusans  (and  you  know 
with  what  feelings  you  came  against  them),  and  those  who  are  there  at 
home  at  that  of  the  Lacedaemonians.  Being  brought  then  to  this  one 
struggle  for  both  parties,  fight  bravely  now,  if  you  ever  did  ;  and 
reflect,  both  individually  and  collectively,  that  those  of  you  who  will 
now  be  on  board  your  ships  represent  both  the  army  and  the  navy  of 
the  Athenians,  all  that  is  left  of  your  country,  and  the  great  name  of 
Athens :  in  behalf  of  which,  whatever  be  the  point  in  which  one  man 
excels  another,  either  in  science  or  courage,  on  no  other  occasion  could 
he  better  display  it,  so  as  both  to  benefit  himself  and  to  contribute  to 

the  preservation  of  all. 

From  "  The  Peloponnesian  War" 


COMMON  THINGS  IMPORTANT. 

ROBERT  C.  WINTHROP. 

SCHOLARS  must  condescend  to  deal  with  common  thoughts,  with  com- 
mon words,  with  common  topics ; — or  rather,  they  must  learn  to  con- 
sider nothing  as  common  or  unclean  which  may  contribute  to  the 
welfare  of  man,  the  safety  of  the  republic,  or  the  glory  of  God.  It  is 
theirs,  by  their  efforts  in  the  pulpit  or  at  the  bar,  in  the  lecture-room, 
or  the  legislative  hall,  at  the  meetings  of  select  societies,  or  at  the 
grander  gatherings  of  popular  masses,  in  the  columns  of  daily  papers, 


70  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

in  the  pages  of  periodical  reviews  or  magazines,  or  through  the  scat- 
tered leaves  of  the  occasional  tract  or  pamphlet,  to  keep  a  strong, 
steady  current  of  sound,  rational,  enlightened  sentiment  always  in 
circulation  through  the  community.  Let  them  remember  that  false 
doctrines  will  not  wait  to  be  corrected  by  ponderous  folios  or  cum- 
brous quartos.  The  thin  pamphlet,  the  meagre  tract,  the  occasional 
address,  the  weekly  sermon,  the  daily  leader, — these  are  the  great 
instruments  of  shaping  and  moulding  the  destinies  of  our  country. 
In  them,  the  scholarship  of  the  country  must  manifest  itself.  In  them, 
the  patriotism  of  the  country  must  exhibit  itself.  In  them,  the 
morality  and  religion  of  the  country  must  assert  itself.  "  The  word 
in  season," — that  word  of  which  Solomon  understood  the  beauty  and 
the  value,  when  he  likened  it  to  apples  of  gold  in  pictures  of  silver, 
— it  is  that  which  is  to  arrest  error,  rebuke  falsehood,  confirm  faith, 
kindle  patriotism,  commend  morality  and  religion,  purify  public  opinion, 
and  preserve  the  State. 

From  "  Address  before  the  Alumni  of  Harvard"  1852. 


DR.  J.  W.  FRANCIS. 

WHO  that  has  kept  vigils  at  the  couch  of  genius,  and  marked  the 
wayward  flickerings  of  its  sacred  fire,  made  yet  more  ethereal  by 
disease,  or  seen  beauty  grow  almost  supernatural  in  the  embrace  of 
pain,  has  not  felt  his  mission  to  be  holy  as  well  as  responsible? 
And  when  a  voice  that  has  thrilled  millions  is  hushed,  or  a  mind  upon 
which  rest  the  cares  of  a  nation  is  prostrated,  who  has  not  realized  how 
intimately  the  healing  art  is  knit  into  the  vast  and  complex  web  of 
human  society  ?  Let  not  that  be  thought  a  light  office  which  summons 
us  to  minister,  as  apostles  of  science,  to  the  greatest  exigencies  of  life ; 
to  cheer  the  soul  under  the  acute  sufferings  of  maternity,  and  alleviate 
the  decay  of  nature  ;  to  watch  over  the  glimmering  dawn  and  the  fading 
twilight  of  existence;  to  stand  beside  the  mother,  whose  sobs  are  hushed 
that  the  departure  of  her  first-born  may  be  undisturbed  ;  and  be  oracles 
at  the  bedside  of  the  revered  minister  of  holy  truth,  the  halo  of  whose 
piety  softens,  on  his  brow,  the  lines  of  mortal  agony.  What  a  mastery 
of  self,  what  requisites,  mental  and  corporeal,  are  demanded  in  him 
who  is  the  observer  of  scenes  like  these,  whose  sympathies  are  awakened 
to  services  such  as  are  befitting  the  mighty  crisis,  and  whose  talents 
are  efficiently  enlisted  for  the  triumphant  accomplishment  of  his  devout 
trust !  The  advent  of  such  an  ambassador,  when  his  calling  is  duly 
understood,  must  awaken  the  heart  to  its  profoundest  depths,  and  can- 
not be  inoperative  upon  minds  of  intellectual  and  moral  culture. 

From  "Discourse  before  the  New  YorJc  Academy  of  Medicine." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PKOSE.  71 

THE    SMITHSONIAN   INSTITUTE. 

JOEL  R.  POINSETT. 

A  LIBERAL  and  enlightened  Englishman,  foreseeing  the  benefits 
which  would  result  to  science  throughout  the  world,  by  its  successful 
cultivation  in  the  vast  and  extensive  field  offered  by  these  states  and 
territories,  with  enlarged  views  and  praiseworthy  philanthropy,  has 
bequeathed  a  fund  to  be  employed  for  the  sacred  purposes  of  increas- 
ing and  diffusing  knowledge  among  men.  This  bequest  will  enable 
the  government  to  afford  all  necessary  protection  to  the  promotion  of 
science  and  the  useful  arts,  without  the  exercise  of  any  doubtful  power, 
by  the  application  of  the  annual  interest  of  this  fund  to  the  establish- 
ment of  an  observatory,  the  erection  of  suitable  buildings  to  contain 
the  collections,  and  for  lecture-rooms,  the  purchase  of  books  and  in- 
struments, and  the  salaries  of  professors  and  curators.  Specimens  of 
natural  history  are  rapidly  accumulating.  The  exploring  expedition 
has  already  sent  home  a  large  collection,  which  remains  packed  away 
in  boxes  in  a  room  belonging  to  the  Philadelphia  Museum,  generously 
loaned  by  the  company  for  that  purpose ;  and  we  may  anticipate  from 
the  ability  and  well-known  zeal  of  the  naturalists  who  accompanied  it 
by  order  of  government,  that  the  squadron  itself,  shortly  expected,  will 
return  richly  freighted  with  objects  of  natural  history. 

From  "  A  Discourse  at  Washington,"  1840. 


THE   FIKST   PEEDICTED   ECLIPSE. 

0.  M.  MlTCHEI. 

To  predict  an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  the  astronomer  must  sweep  forward, 
from  new  moon  to  new  moon,  until  he  finds  some  new  moon  which 
should  occur,  while  the  moon  was  in  the  act  of  crossing  from  one  side 
to  the  other  of  the  sun's  track.  This  certainly  was  possible.  He  knew 
the  exact  period  from  new  moon  to  new  moon,  and  from  one  crossing 
of  the  ecliptic  to  another.  With  eager  eye  he  seizes  the  moon's  place 
in  the  heavens,  and  her  age,  and  rapidly  computes  where  she  will  be 
at  her  next  change.  He  finds  the  new  moon  occurring  far  from  the 
sun's  track ;  he  runs  round  another  revolution  ;  the  place  of  the  new 
moon  falls  closer  to  the  sun's  path,  and  the  next  yet  closer,  until,  reach- 
ing forward  with  piercing  intellectual  vigor,  he  at  last  finds  a  new 
moon  which  occurs  precisely  at  the  computed  time  of  her  passage 
across  the  sun's  track.  Here  he  makes  his  stand,  and  on  the  day  of 
the  occurrence  of  that  new  moon,  he  announces  to  the  startled  inhabit- 
ants of  the  world  that  the  sun  shall  expire  in  dark  eclipse.  Bold  pre- 
diction ! — Mysterious  prophet !  with  what  scorn  must  the  unthinking 
world  have  received  this  solemn  declaration  !  How  slowly  do  the  moons 


72  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

roll  away,  and  with  what  intense  anxiety  does  the  stern  philosopher 
await  the  coming  of  that  day  which  should  crown  him  with  victory,  or 
dash  him  to  the  ground  in  ruin  and  disgrace  !  Time  to  him  moves  on 
leaden  wings ;  day  after  day,  and  at  last  hour  after  hour,  roll  heavily 
away.  The  last  night  is  gone — the  moon  has  disappeared  from  his 
eagle  gaze  in  her  approach  to  the  sun,  and  the  dawn  of  the  eventful 
day  breaks  in  beauty  on  a  slumbering  world. 

This  daring  man,  stern  in  his  faith,  climbs  alone  to  his  rocky  home, 
and  greets  the  sun  as  he  rises  and  mounts  the  heavens,  scattering 
brightness  and  glory  in  his  path.  Beneath  him  is  spread  out  the  popu- 
lous city,  already  teeming  with  life  and  activity.  The  busy  morning 
hum  rises  on  the  still  air,  and  reaches  the  watching  place  of  the  solitary 
astronomer.  The  thousands  below  him,  unconscious  of  his  intense 
anxiety,  buoyant  with  life,  joyously  pursue  their  rounds  of  business, 
their  cycles  of  amusement.  The  sun  slowly  climbs  the  heavens,  round 
and  bright  and  full-orbed.  The  lone  tenant  of  the  mountain-top 
almost  begins  to  waver  in  the  sternness  of  his  faith,  as  the  morning 
hours  roll  away.  But  the  time  of  his  triumph,  long  delayed,  at  length 
begins  to  dawn  ;  a  pale  and  sickly  hue  creeps  over  the  face  of  nature. 
The  sun  has  reached  his  highest  point,  but  his  splendor  is  dimmed,  his 
light  is  feeble.  At  last  it  comes ! — Blackness  is  eating  away  his  round 
disc, — onward  with  slow  but  steady  pace  the  dark  veil  moves,  blacker 
than  a  thousand  nights, — the  gloom  deepens, — the  ghastly  hue  of  death 
covers  the  universe, — the  last  ray  is  gone,  and  horror  reigns.  A  wail 
of  terror  fills  the  murky  air, — the  clangor  of  brazen  trumpets  resounds, — 
an  agony  of  despair  dashes  the  stricken  millions  to  the  ground,  while 
that  lone  man,  erect  on  his  rocky  summit,  with  arms  outstretched  to 
heaven,  pours  forth  the  grateful  gushings  of  his  heart  to  God  who  had 
crowned  his  efforts  with  triumphant  victory.  Search  the  records  of  our 
race,  and  point  me,  if  you  can,  to  a  scene  more  grand,  more  beautiful. 
It  is  to  me  the  proudest  victory  that  genius  ever  won.  It  was  the  con- 
quering of  nature,  of  ignorance,  of  superstition,  of  terror,  all  at  a  single 
blow,  and  that  blow  struck  by  a  single  arm.  And  now  do  you  demand 
the  name  of  this  wonderful  man  ?  Alas !  what  a  lesson  of  the  insta- 
bility of  earthly  fame  are  we  taught  in  this  simple  recital.  He  who 
had  raised  himself  immeasurably  above  his  race, — who  must  have  been 
regarded  by  his  fellows  as  little  less  than  a  god,  who  had  inscribed  his 
fame  on  the  very  heavens,  and  had  written  it  in  the  sun,  with  a  "  pen 
of  iron,  and  the  point  of  a  diamond/'  even  this  one  has  perished  from 
the  earth — name,  age,  country,  are  all  swept  into  oblivion,  but  his 
proud  achievement  stands.  The  monument  reared  to  his  honor  stands, 
and  although  the  touch  of  time  has  effaced  the  lettering  of  his  name, 
it  is  powerless,  and  cannot  destroy  the  fruits  of  his  victory. 

From  "  PUinntary  and  Stellar  Worlds." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  73 

KEPLEK'S  DISCOVERY  OF  THE  THIKD  LAW. 

0.  M.  MlTCHEL 

GUIDED  by  some  kind  angel  or  spirit  whose  sympathy  had  been 
touched  by  the  unwearied  zeal  of  the  mortal,  Kepler  returned  to  his 
former  computations,  and,  with  a  heaving  breast  and  throbbing  heart, 
he  detects  the  numerical  error  in  his  work,  and  commences  anew.  The 
square  of  Jupiter's  period  is  to  the  square  of  Saturn's  period  as  the 
cube  of  Jupiter's  distance  is  to  some  fourth  term,  which  Kepler  hoped 
and  prayed  might  prove  to  be  the  cube  of  Saturn's  distance.  With 
trembling  hand,  he  sweeps  through  the  maze  of  figures ;  the  fourth 
term  is  obtained ;  he  compares  it  with  the  cube  of  Saturn's  distance. 
They  are  the  same ! — He  could  scarcely  believe  his  own  senses.  He 
feared  some  demon  mocked  him.  He  ran  over  the  work  again  and 
again — he  tried  the  proportion,  the  square  of  Jupiter's  period  to  the 
square  of  Mars'  period  as  the  cube  of  Jupiter's  distance  to  a  fourth 
term,  which  he  found  to  be  the  cube  of  the  distance  of  Mars — till 
finally  full  conviction  burst  upon  his  mind  :  he  had  won  the  goal,  the 
struggle  of  seventeen  long  years  was  ended,  God  was  vindicated,  and 
the  philosopher,  in  the  wild  excitement  of  his  glorious  triumph, 
exclaims: — 

"  Nothing  holds  me.  I  will  indulge  my  sacred  fury  !  If  you  forgive 
me,  I  rejoice ;  if  you  are  angry,  I  can  bear  it.  The  die  is  cast.  The 
book  is  written,  to  be  read  either  now,  or  by  posterity,  I  care  not  which. 
It  may  well  wait  a  century  for  a  reader,  since  God  has  waited  six 
thousand  years  for  an  observer  I" 

More  than  two  hundred  years  have  rolled  away  since  Kepler 
announced  his  great  discoveries.  Science  has  marched  forward  with 
swift  and  resistless  energy.  The  secrets  of  the  universe  have  been 
yielded  up  under  the  inquisitorial  investigations  of  god-like  intellect. 
The  domain  of  the  mind  has  been  extended  wider  and  wider.  One 
planet  after  another  has  been  added  to  our  system ;  even  the  profound 
abyss  which  separates  us  from  the  fixed  stars  has  been  passed,  and 
thousands  of  rolling  suns  have  been  descried  swiftly  flying  or  majesti- 
cally sweeping  through  the  thronged  regions  of  space.  But  the  laws  of 
Kepler  bind  them  all : — satellite  and  primary — planet  and  sun — sun 
and  system, — all  with  one  accord  proclaim,  in  silent  majesty,  the 
triumph  of  the  hero  philosopher. 

From  "  Planetary  and  Stellar  Worlds." 


74  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE  TREATY  OF  SHACKAMAXON. 

HENRY  D.  GILPIN. 

THE  treaty  of  Shackamaxon — "  the  treaty  not  sworn  to  and  never 
broken" — is  the  beacon-spot  in  the  history  of  Pennsylvania,  most  con- 
spicuous in  her  early  annals.  At  the  dawn  of  every  people's  history, 
there  seems  to  be  some  characteristic  incident  for  ever  remembered 
and  cherished.  The  legend  of  Athens  never  ceased  to  keep  in  lively 
remembrance  the  promise  of  protection,  given  by  the  Goddess  of  wis- 
dom, intelligence  and  courage,  on  the  rude  rock  beneath  which  the 
future  city  was  to  grow,  and  the  olive-tree  that  she  planted  there,  as 
the  token  of  her  promise,  was  guarded  and  encircled  with  monuments 
of  art,  taste,  and  beauty,  which  still,  even  in  their  ruins,  win  the 
admiration  of  the  world.  The  laws  inspired  by  Egeria  at  her  seques- 
tered fountain,  which  were  to  form  from  a  band  of  robbers  the  mighty 
Iloman  race  ;  the  league  framed  by  the  three  bold  spirits  of  Switzerland, 
in  the  sequestered  Alpine  meadow  of  Grutli ;  the  charter  of  liberty 
extorted  from  their  perfidious  sovereign,  by  the  armed  barons  of  Eng- 
land, on  the  island  of  Runnymede,  are  events  of  national  story  that 
have  loomed  out  more  largely  as  time  has  rolled  on ;  and,  with  us,  the 
first  memorable  treaty  of  Penn  has  become  more  reverenced  with  each 
succeeding  year,  as  having  founded  the  government  under  which  we 
live,  on  the  corner-stones  of  justice  and  peace. 

From  "  Address  before  the  Pennsylvania  Historical  Society"  1857. 


THE   SETTLEMENT   OF  PENNSYLVANIA. 

HENRY  D.  GILPIN. 

IF  the  foundation  and  settlement  of  Pennsylvania  were  planned  and 
accomplished  upon  a  system  so  benignant  and  just,  alike  to  the  red 
man  and  the  emigrant,  as  to  elicit  the  praise  and  wonder  of  the  age,  to 
what  was  it  due  but  to  his  promises,  made  in  advance  and  never  swerved 
from,  of  just  and  gentle  dealings  towards  the  one,  and,  to  the  other, 
that  they  should  "be  governed  by  laws  of  their  own  making,  so  that 
they  might  be  a  free,  and,  if  they  would,  a  sober  and  industrious 
people,"  possessing  "all  that  good  and  free  men  could  reasonably  desire 
for  the  security  and  improvement  of  their  own  happiness"  ?  "  Let  the 
Lord,"  he  said,  "  guide  me  by  His  wisdom  to  honor  His  name,  and  to 
serve  His  truth  and  people,  so  that  an  example  and  a  standard  may  be 
set  up  to  the  nations." 

If  the  constitution  of  our  state,  now  and  always,  has  declared  that 
no  right  of  conscience,  and  no  form  or  mode  of  religious  worship,  shall 
be  controlled  or  interfered  with,  and  requires,  in  offices  of  the  highest 
trust,  no  religious  qualification  but  a  belief  in  the  existence  of  the 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  75 

Supreme  Being,  and  His  power  to  punish  or  reward  our  actions,  we 
proudly  remember  that  this  glorious  principle  is  foremost  in  the  earliest 
of  our  laws,  voluntarily  proclaimed  by  Penn  before  he  left  the  shores 
of  England ;  and  that  he,  among  all  legislators,  was  the  first  to  gua- 
rantee, by  the  enactments  of  his  civil  code,  the  full  enjoyment  of  this 
Christian  liberty  to  every  one  living  in  his  province,  "  who  should  con- 
fess and  acknowledge  one  Almighty  God  to  be  the  creator,  upholder, 
and  ruler  of  the  world." 

From  "  Address  before  the  Pennsylvania  Historical  Society,"  1857. 


CARDINAL  WISEMAN. 

SOME  years  ago  the  entire  Church  of  St.  Peter's  was  lighted  up  on 
Thursday  and  Friday  evenings  of  Holy  Week,  by  one  huge  brazen 
cross,  studded  with  lamps,  and  hung  below  the  dome. 

The  play  of  light  and  shadow,  in  bold  masses,  edged  bluffly  one  by 
another,  through  the  aisles,  was  splendid  beyond  description.  Now  it 
is  certain  that  Canova  designed  the  beautiful  monument  of  Rezzonico 
(Clement  XIII.),  its  fine  lions  and  reclining  genius,  with  an  eye,  most 
particularly,  to  the  effect  upon  it  of  this  religious  illumination.  He 
had  it  carefully  covered  till  the  first  of  these  evenings,  and  exposed  it 
to  view  under  the  influence  of  this  unusual  light.  I  well  remember  its 
splendid  effect  under  such  circumstances  ;  and  can  imagine  the  general 
delight  upon  its  first  exhibition.  Indeed,  so  anxious  was  Canova  him- 
self to  try  the  experiment  fairly,  that  he  employed  his  friend,  Cav. 
D'Este,  from  whom  I  have  the  account,  to  procure  for  him  a  disguise. 
"  My  friends/'  he  observed,  "  are  sure  to  praise  the  monument ;  and 
my  enemies  are  sure  to  find  fault  with  it.  I  will  go  among  the  people 
and  hear  their  opinions."  After  vain  attempts  to  dissuade  him,  the 
costume  of  a  very  poor  priest  was  procured,  and  he  was  soon  so  dis- 
guised as  to  defy  detection.  D'Este  saw  him  thread  his  way  through 
the  admiring  crowd,  and  listen  to  the  judgment  of  every  little  knot, 
till  he  stood  by  the  group  in  which  the  senator  Rezzonico,  nephew  to 
the  Pope,  was  asking,  "Where  is  Canova,  that  we  may  congratulate 
with  him,"  eyeing,  at  the  same  time,  askance,  the  dilapidated  sacristan, 
as  he  thought  him,  who  was  almost  intruding  upon  them.  But  Canova 
was  not  discovered,  and  returned  home  satisfied,  having  received  sen- 
tence of  approval  from  an  unpacked  and  unprejudiced  jury. 

From  " Lectures.at  Rome" 


76  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC   SPEAKER. 

DEVOTION   TO   SCIENCE. 

AUGUSTIN  THIERRY. 

IF,  as  I  delight  in  thinking,  the  interest  of  science  is  counted  in  the 
number  of  great  national  interests,  I  have  given  my  country  all  that 
the  soldier,  mutilated  on  the  field  of  battle,  gives  her.  Whatever  may 
be  the  fate  of  my  labors,  this  example,  I  hope,  will  not  be  lost.  I 
would  wish  it  to  serve  to  combat  the  species  of  moral  weakness  which 
is  the  disease  of  our  present  generation ;  to  bring  back  into  the  straight 
road  of  life  some  of  those  enervated  souls  that  complain  of  wanting 
faith-,  that  know  not  what  to  do,  and  seek  everywhere,  without  finding 
it,  an  object  of  worship  and  admiration.  Why  say,  with  so  much  bit- 
terness, that  in  the  world,  constituted  as  it  is,  there  is  no  air  for  all 
lungs,  no  employment  for  all  minds  ?  Is  not  calm  and  serious  study 
there?  And  is  not  that  a  refuge,  a  hope,  a  field  within  the  reach  of  all 
of  us  ?  With  it,  evil  days  are  passed  over  without  their  weight  being 
felt ;  every  one  can  make  his  own  destiny  ;  every  one  employ  his  life 
nobly.  This  is  what  I  have  done,  and  would  do  again,  if  I  had  to 
recommence  my  career ;  I  would  choose  that  which  has  brought  me 
where  I  am.  Blind,  and  suffering  without  hope,  and  almost  without 
intermission,  I  may  give  this  testimony,  which  from  me  will  not  appear 
suspicious:  there  is  something  in  the  world  better  than  sensual  enjoy- 
ments, better  than  fortune,  better  than  health  itself;  it  is  devotion  to 
science. 

From  " Autobiographical  Preface" 


EUROPEAN  NAMES  IN   AMERICA. 

AUGUSTIN  THIERRY. 

THE  District  of  Columbia  is  the  seat  of  the  chief  congress,  and 
contains  the  palace  in  which  the  members  of  the  congress  assemble. 
This  palace  has  been  called  by  the  ancient  name  of  the  Capitol.  It  is 
not,  like  the  Capitol  of  Rome,  built  on  an  immovable  rock ;  but  its 
destiny  is  far  more  certain.  Liberty  presides  over  it,  instead  of  the 
fickle  god  of  war ;  and  the  tide  of  the  vengeance  of  the  people  will 
never  need  to  rise  against  it. 

We  cannot  see,  without  emotion,  on  the  map  of  that  free  country, 
the  names  of  cities  borrowed  from  all  the  countries  of  Europe,  the 
names  of  Paris,  Rome,  Lisbon,  and  even  that  of  Athens.  All  European 
countries  have  furnished  their  share  to  that  happy  population,  as  if  to 
prove  to  the  world  that  liberty  belongs  to  all,  and  is  the  peculiar  pro- 
perty of  none.  The  exiles  of  each  country  have,  like  the  fugitives  of 
Troy,  attached  the  beloved  name  of  the  home  of  their  childhood  to  the 
name  of  their  old  age.  America  is  the  common  asylum  of  us  all. 
From  whatever  part  of  the  Old  World  we  steer,  we  shall  not  be  strangers 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  77 

in  the  New ;  we  shall  there  meet  with  our  language,  our  fellow-coun- 
trymen, and  our  brethren.  If,  what  destiny  will  doubtless  not  permit 
to  occur,  the  barbarism  of  ancient  times  prevailed  against  modern 
Europe ;  if  those  who  gave  the  communes  the  name  of  execrable,  and 
who  still  threaten  war  against  us  in  the  names  of  their  ancestors,  the 
enemies  of  ours,  were  to  triumph  over  reason  and  us,  we  should  have  a 
redress  which  our  ancestors  had  not ;  the  sea  is  free,  and  there  is  a  free 
world  beyond  it.  We  should  breathe  there  with  ease,  we  should  brace 
up  our  minds  there,  and  we  should  rally  there  our  strength. 

Nos  manet  Oceanus  circumvagus  ;  arva  beata 

Petamus  arva 

From  "  Essays." 


THE   PKOGKESS   OF   CIVILIZATION. 

GUIZOT. 

CIVILIZATION  is  still  in  its  infancy.  How  distant  is  the  human  mind 
from  the  perfection  to  which  it  may  attain — from  the  perfection  for 
which  it  was  created  !  How  incapable  are  we  of  grasping  the  whole 
future  destiny  of  man  !  Let  any  one  even  descend  into  his  own  mind 
— let  him  picture  there  the  highest  point  of  perfection  to  which  man, 
to  which  society  may  attain,  that  he  can  conceive,  that  he  can  hope;— 
let  him  then  contrast  this  picture  with  the  present  state  of  the  world, 
and  he  will  feel  assured  that  society  and  civilization  are  still  in  their 
childhood :  that  however  great  the  distance  they  have  advanced,  that 
which  they  have  before  them  is  incomparably,  is  infinitely  greater. 
This,  however,  should  not  lessen  the  pleasure  with  which  we  contem- 
plate our  present  condition.  When  you  have  run  over  with  me  the 
great  epochs  of  civilization  during  the  last  fifteen  centuries,  you  will 
see,  up  to  our  time,  how  painful,  how  stormy,  has  been  the  condition 
of  man ;  how  hard  has  been  his  lot,  not  only  outwardly  as  regards 
society,  but  internally,  as  regards  the  intellectual  man.  For  fifteen 
centuries  the  human  mind  has  suffered  as  much  as  the  human  race. 
You  will  see  that  it  is  only  lately  that  the  human  mind,  perhaps  for  the 
first  time,  has  arrived,  imperfect  though  its  condition  still  be,  to  a  state 
where  some  peace,  some  harmony,  some  freedom  is  found.  The  same 
holds  with  regard  to  society — its  immense  progress  is  evident — the  con- 
dition of  man,  compared  with  what  it  has  been,  is  easy  and  just.  In 
thinking  of  our  ancestors  we  may  almost  apply  to  ourselves  the  verses 
of  Lucretius : — 

"Suave  mari  magno,  turbantibus  aequora  ventis, 
E  terra  rnagnum  alterius  spectare  laborem." 

Without  any  great  degree  of  pride  we  may,  as  Sthenelas  is  made 
7* 


78  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

to  do  in  Homer,  H/j.et$  TO}  TraTeptuv  jj.sy  d/zecvovec  so%ofj.£6'  efvav,  "  He- 
turn  thanks  to  God  that  we  are  infinitely  better  than  our  fathers." 

From  "  History  of  Civilization." 


THE   PILGKIMS   OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

S.  S.  PRENTISS. 

How  proudly  can  we  compare  their  conduct  with  that  of  the  adven- 
turers of  other  nations  who  preceded  them !  How  did  the  Spaniard 
colonize?  Let  Mexico,  Peru,  and  Hispaniola  answer.  He  followed  in 
the  train  of  the  great  Discoverer,  like  a  devouring  pestilence.  His  cry 
was  gold !  gold ! !  gold  ! ! !  Never  in  the  history  of  the  world  had  the 
sacra  fames  auri  exhibited  itself  with  such  fearful  intensity.  His 
imagination  maddened  with  visions  of  sudden  and  boundless  wealth, 
clad  in  mail,  he  leaped  upon  the  New  World,  an  armed  robber.  In 
greedy  haste  he  grasped  the  sparkling  sand,  then  cast  it  down  with 
curses,  when  he  found  the  glittering  grains  were  not  of  gold. 

Pitiless  as  the  blood-hound  by  his  side,  he  plunged  into  the  primeval 
forests,  crossed  rivers,  lakes,  and  mountains,  and  penetrated  to  the 
very  heart  of  the  continent.  No  region,  however  rich  in  soil,  delicious 
in  climate,  or  luxuriant  in  production,  could  tempt  his  stay.  In  vain 
the  soft  breeze  of  the  tropics,  laden  with  aromatic  fragrance,  wooed 
him  to  rest ;  in  vain  the  smiling  valleys,  covered  with  spontaneous 
fruits  and  flowers,  invited  him  to  peaceful  quiet.  His  search  was  still 
for  gold:  the  aqcursed  hunger  could  not  be  appeased.  The  simple 
natives  gazed  upon  him  in  superstitious  wonder,  and  worshipped  him 
as  a  god  ;  and  he  proved  to  them  a  god,  but  an  infernal  one — terrible, 
cruel,  and  remorseless.  With  bloody  hands  he  tore  the  ornaments  from 
their  persons,  and  the  shrines  from  their  altars :  he  tortured  them  to 
discover  hidden  treasure,  and  slew  them  that  he  might  search,  even  in 
their  wretched  throats,  for  concealed  gold.  Well  might  the  miserable 
Indians  imagine  that  a  race  of  evil  deities  had  come  among  them,  more 
bloody  and  relentless  than  those  who  presided  over  their  own  san- 
guinary rites. 

Now  let  us  turn  to  the  pilgrims.  They,  too,  were  tempted ;  and 
had  they  yielded  to  the  temptation,  how  different  might  have  been  the 
destinies  of  this  continent — how  different  must  have  been  our  own  I 
Previous  to  their  undertaking,  the  Old  World  was  filled  with  strange 
and  wonderful  accounts  of  the  new.  The  unbounded  wealth,  drawn 
by  the  Spaniards  from  Mexico  and  South  America,  seemed  to  afford 
rational  support  for  the  wildest  assertions.  Each  succeeding  adven- 
turer, returning  from  his  voyage,  added  to  the  Arabian  tales  a  still 
more  extravagant  story.  At  length  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  the  most 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  79 

accomplished  and  distinguished  of  all  those  bold  voyagers,  announced 
to  the  world  his  discovery  of  the  province  of  Guiana,  and  its  magnifi- 
cent capital,  the  far-famed  city  of  El  Dorado.  We  smile  now  at  his 
account  of  the  "  great  and  golden  city,"  and  "  the  mighty,  rich,  and 
beautiful  empire."  We  can  hardly  imagine  that  any  one  could  have 
believed,  for  a  moment,  in  their  existence.  At  that  day,  however,  the 
whole  matter  was  received  with  the  most  implicit  faith. 

The  pilgrims  were  urged,  in  leaving  Holland,  to  seek  this  charming 
country,  and  plant  their  colony  among  its  Arcadian  bowers.  Well 
might  the  poor  wanderers  cast  a  longing  glance  towards  its  happy  val- 
leys, which  seemed  to  invite  to  pious  contemplation  and  peaceful  labor. 
Well  might  the  green  grass,  the  pleasant  groves,  the  tame  deer,  and 
the  singing  birds  allure  them  to  that  smiling  land  beneath  the  equinoc- 
tial line.  But  while  they  doubted  not  the  existence  of  this  wondrous 
region,  they  resisted  its  tempting  charms.  They  had  resolved  to  vindi- 
cate, at  the  same  time,  their  patriotism  and  their  principles — to  add 
dominion  to  their  native  land,  and  to  demonstrate  to  the  world  the 
practicability  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  After  full  discussion  and 
mature  deliberation,  they  determined  that  their  great  objects  could  be 
best  accomplished  by  a  settlement  on  some  portion  of  the  northern  con- 
tinent, which  would  hold  out  no  temptation  to  cupidity — no  inducement 
to  persecution.  Putting  aside,  then,  all  considerations  of  wealth  and 
ease,  they  addressed  themselves  with  high  resolution  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  their  noble  purpose.  In  the  language  of  the  historian,  "  trusting 
to  God  and  themselves,"  they  embarked  upon  their  perilous  enterprise. 

From  "  Address  at  New  Orleans." 


THE   VALUE   OF   THE   UNION. 

S.  S.  PRENTISS. 

WE  cannot  do  with  less  than  the  whole  Union  ;  to  us  it  admits  of  no 
division.  In  the  veins  of  our  children  flows  northern  and  southern 
blood  ;  how  shall  it  be  separated  ;  who  shall  put  asunder  the  best  affec- 
tions of  the  heart,  the  noblest  instincts  of  our  nature  ?  We  love  the 
land  of  our  adoption,  so  do  we  that  of  our  birth.  Let  us  ever  be  true 
to  both  ;  and  always  exert  ourselves  in  maintaining  the  unity  of  our 
country,  the  integrity  of  the  Republic. 

Accursed,  then,  be  the  hand  put  forth  to  loosen  the  golden  cord  of 
Union  ;  thrice  accursed  the  traitorous  lips,  whether  of  northern  fanatic 
or  southern  demagogue,  which  shall  propose  its  severance.  But  no ! 
the  Union  cannot  be  dissolved ;  its  fortunes  are  too  brilliant  to  be 
marred  ;  its  destinies  too  powerful  to  be  resisted.  Here  will  be  their 
greatest  triumph,  their  most  mighty  development.  And  when,  a  cen- 


80  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

tury  hence,  this  Crescent  City  shall  have  filled  her  golden  horns  ;  when, 
within  her  broad-armed  port,  shall  be  gathered  the  products  of  the  in- 
dustry of  a  hundred  millions  of  freemen  ;  when  galleries  of  art  and 
halls  of  learning  shall  have  made  classic  this  mart  of  trade ;  then  may 
the  sons  of  "the  Pilgrims,  still  wandering  from  the  bleak  hills  of  the 
north,  stand  upon  the  banks  of  the  great  river,  and  exclaim  with 
mingled  pride  and  wonder,  Lo !  this  is  our  country :  when  did  the 
world  ever  witness  so  rich  and  magnificent  a  city — so  great  and  glori- 
ous a  Republic ! 

From  '•'  Address  at  New  Orleans." 


ENGLISH   OPINIONS   OF   FRANCE. 

DR.  DURBIN. 

IN  forming  an  opinion  of  the  moral  state  of  France,  we  should  first 
endeavor  to  divest  ourselves  of  any  unreasonable  prejudice  imbibed 
from  English  statements.  Knowing,  as  we  do,  how  steadily  and  system- 
atically the  character  and  institutions  of  America  are  misrepresented 
by  English  travellers,  and  how  readily  their  extravagant  statements 
are  credited  by  their  countrymen,  we  should  be  the  more  inclined  to 
distrust  their  observations  in  regard  to  France,  their  ancient  rival  and 
hereditary  enemy.  English  travellers,  in  general,  can  do  justice  to  no 
country  ;  least  of  all  to  France.  For  ages  the  English  feeling  towards 
France  has  fluctuated  between  fear  and  contempt ;  but  for  the  last  half 
century  her  politics  have  been  regarded  with  dread  and  her  irreligion 
with  horror  by  the  islanders.  Accordingly,  their  pictures  of  the  moral 
condition  of  France  are,  in  general,  deeply  shaded.  True,  the  violence 
and  crime  of  the  Revolution  warranted  the  darkest  coloring ;  but  France 
under  the  Revolution  and  France  under  Louis  Philippe  are  two  differ- 
ent states  of  society.  The  demoralizing  effects  of  the  Revolution  are, 
to  be  sure,  yet  visible  ;  the  society  of  France  may  be  said  as  yet  to  be 
only  in  its  forming  state ;  but  yet  he  must  be  blind  indeed  who  cannot 
see  in  the  vast  increase  of  trade  and  manufactures,  in  the  increased 
attention  to  agriculture  and  the  arts  of  peace,  new  elements  at  work  to 
purify  the  moral  atmosphere.  Within  a  certain  limit,  such  will  be 
their  tendency ;  and  that  tendency  is  already  perceptible. 

From  "  Observations  in  Europe." 


NAPOLEON'S  TOMB. 

DR.  DURBIN. 

THE  crowning  interest  of  this  magnificent  establishment  (The  Inva- 
lides)  is  the  tomb  of  NAPOLEON,  in  the  chapel  of  St.  Jerome.  In  reach- 
ing the  chapel,  we  had  to  cross  the  body  of  the  church,  under  the  dome. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  81 

Some  of  us  forgot  to  take  off  our  hats  on  entering  the  rotunda,  until 
two  of  the  old  warriors,  standing  as  sentinels  at  the  tomb,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  off,  reminded  us  of  our  negligence  in  a  quick,  loud  tone. 
Of  course,  we  obeyed.  Hastening  across  to  the  chapel,  we  approached 
the  iron  grating  that  cuts  off  access  to  the  sarcophagus,  and  stood 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  ashes  of  the  hero.  I  felt  a  sensation  of  awe 
such  as  I  had  never  before  experienced  in  presence  of  the  living,  or 
among  the  remains  of  the  dead.  Upon  the  marble  lay  his  crown,  his 
sword,  and  the  hat  which  had  pressed  his  manly  brows  at  Eylau.  On 
the  top  of  a  marble  pyramid,  at  the  head  of  the  tomb,  some  fifteen  feet 
in  height,  is  the  majestic  eagle  of  France,  with  wings  outspread,  as  if 
looking  for  the  resurrection  of  the  mighty  man  beneath.  The  chapel 
of  the  tomb  is  richly  hung  in  velvet,  and  a  dim,  cold  light  comes 
througlTihe  ground-glass  windows  above.  We  held  our  voices  in  the 
great  man's  resting-place.  Many  came  while  we  were  there,  but  none 
who  did  not  gaze  with  reverence  on  the  tomb  of  him  who  had  broken 
up  the  despotic  institutions  of  a  thousand  years,  and  changed  the  face 
of  Europe  and  the  world. 

From  "  Observations  in  Europe," 


MAN'S   IMMOKTALITY. 

WILLIAM  PBOUT. 

What  is  to  become  of  man?  Is  the  being  who,  surveying  nature, 
recognises  to  a  certain  extent,  the  great  scheme  of  the"  universe ;  but 
who  sees  infinitely  more  which  he  does  not  comprehend,  and  which  he 
ardently  desires  to  know ; — is  he  to  perish  like  a  mere  brute — all  his 
knowledge  useless ;  all  his  most  earnest  wishes  ungratified  ?  How  are 
we  to  reconcile  such  a  fate  with  the  wisdom — the  goodness — the  im- 
partial justice — so  strikingly  displayed  throughout  the  world  by  its 
Creator?  Is  it  consistent  with  any  one  of  these  attributes,  thus  to  raise 
hopes  in  a  dependent  being,  which  are  never  to  be  realized  ?  thus  to 
lift,  as  it  were,  a  corner  of  the  veil — to  show  this  being  a  glimpse  of  the 
splendor  beyond — and  after  all  to  annihilate  him  ?  With  the  character 
and  attributes  of  the  benevolent  Author  of  the  universe,  as  deduced 
from  His  works,  such  conceptions  are  absolutely  incompatible.  The 
question  then  recurs — What  is  to  become  of  man  ?  That  he  is  mortal, 
like  his  fellow-creatures,  sad  experience  teaches  him ;  but  does  he,  like 
them,  die  entirely  ?  Is  there  no  part  of  him,  that,  surviving  the  general 
wreck,  is  reserved  for  a  higher  destiny  ?  Can  that,  within  man,  which 
reasons  like  his  immortal  Creator — which  sees  and  acknowledges  Hia 
wisdom,  and  approves  of  His  designs,  be  mortal  like  the  rest?  Is  it 
probable,  nay,  is  it  possible,  that  what  can  thus  comprehend  the  opera- 
tions of  an  immortal  Agent,  Is  not  itself  immortal  ? 

F 


82  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Thus  has  reasoned  man  in  all  ages ;  and  his  desires  and  his  feelings, 
his  hopes  and  his  fears,  have  all  conspired  with  his  reason,  to  strengthen 
the  conviction,  that  there  is  something  within  him  which  cannot  die: 
that  he  is  destined,  in  short,  for  a  future  state  of  existence,  where  his 
nature  will  be  exalted,  and  his  knowledge  perfected ;  and  where  the 
GREAT  DESIGN  of  his  Creator,  commenced  and  left  imperfect  here  below, 

WILL  BE  COMPLETED. 

From  "  Bridgewater  Treatises." 


THE   STONE   AGE. 

WALTER  SCOTT. 

THE  most  important  memorials  of  the  Btone  age  are  the  graves, 
called  Cromlechs  and  Giants'  Chambers.  The  former  vary  niuch  in 
size  and  shape,  the  long  cromlechs  being  generally  from  sixty  to  a 
hundred,  but  sometimes  reaching  even  four  hundred  feet  in  length,  by 
sixteen  to  forty  feet  in  breadth,  while  the  circular  cromlechs  are 
smaller.  All,  however,  have  the  same  character,  as  they  appear 
to  have  had  the  same  destination.  Each  cromlech  consists  of  several 
large  flat  stones  arranged  edgewise  on  a  mound  of  earth,  and  capped 
by  a  huge  fragment  of  rock,  often  from  thirty  to  forty  feet  in  circum- 
ference, thus  forming  a  sepulchral  chamber,  wherein  the  bodies  of  the 
dead  were  placed,  mostly  in  a  sitting  posture,  with  their  backs  to  the 
wall. 

The  giants'  chamber  differs  from  the  cromlech  in  being  somewhat 
larger,  in  having  a  long  passage  of  stone  leading  to  the  interior,  and 
from  the  whole  being  covered  with  a  mound  of  earth  forming  a 
tumulus.  Some  of  these  tumuli  also  contain  two  chambers  with 
separate  entrances. 

Skeletons  of  unburnt  bodies,  implements  of  stone  and  flint,  amber 
beads,  various  ornaments,  and  earthenware  vases,  have  been  found  in 
all  these  tombs  ;  which  are  not  only  interesting,  as  showing  the  degree 
of  civilization  attained  by  the  people,  but  from  indicating  that  they 
possessed  ideas  of  a  future  state,  as  they  buried  by  the  warrior's  side 
weapons  and  various  articles  thought  necessary  to  him  in  another 
existence.  This  custom  is  general  amongst  savage  tribes  even  at  the 
present  day,  while  in  all  parts  of  the  world  nations  in  an  unenlight- 
ened and  barbarous  condition  have  been  found  to  sacrifice  the  friends 
or  servants  of  their  deceased  chiefs,  in  order  that  they  might  be  pro- 
perly attended  on  their  entrance  into  the  next  world.  Such  might 
have  been  the  case  in  Scandinavia,  and  would  at  once  account  satisfac- 
torily for  the  fact  of  the  cromlechs  and  giants'  chambers  containing 
several  skeletons. 

The  ornaments  of  the  stone  period,  seen  in  the  museum,  are  of  the 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  83 

simplest  kind  ;  the  most  precious  amongst  them  consisting  of  pieces  of 
amber  pierced,  and  doubtless  worn  as  beads  ;  some  of  these  are  rough, 
others  formed  like  hammer-heads  or  axes. 

The  people  of  the  "  stone  age"  were  not  confined  to  Southern  Scan- 
dinavia, for  cromlechs  are  found  along  the  north-west  and  west  coasts 
of  Europe,  the  southern  shores  of  the  Baltic,  in  Ireland  and  Britain, 
all  having  similar  contents  to  those  of  Denmark.  But  in  Norway  and 
the  north  of  Sweden,  this  kind  of  tomb  does  not  exist,  although  imple- 
ments and  weapons  of  stone  are  found  in  those  countries,  as  well  as  in 
Southern  Europe,  and  even  in  the  tumuli  of  the  Mississippi  valley  in 
North  America.  Some  of  the  implements  discovered  in  the  latter, 
especially  the  flint  knives,  bear  an  exact  resemblance  to  those  of  Den- 
mark ;  but  we  cannot  infer  from  this  circumstance  alone,  that  the  same 
race  inhabited  these  widely-separated  countries;  for  nations  the 
farthest  removed  from  each  other,  with  the  same  wants,  and  their 
faculties  in  a  like  state  of  development,  arrive  at  similar  results  in 
their  first  feeble  essays  at  art,  of  which  the  close  similarity  between 
the  Scandinavian  and  New  Zealand  productions  in  stone  afford  another 
striking  example.  It  may,  however,  be  reasonably  presumed  that- the 
southern  coast  of  the  Baltic,  Hanover,  the  north  of  Holland,  England, 
and  Ireland,  where  the  cromlechs  are  found,  were  inhabited  by  the 
same  race  as  that  of  the  stone  .age  in  Denmark. 


PENN   AND  LYCUKGUS. 

G.  C.  VERPLANCK. 

PENN  arrived  in  Pennsylvania,  in  October,  1682.  As  he  was  wont, 
according  to  the  taste  of  the  age  and  of  his  sect,  to  allegorize  natural 
occurrences,  he  might  have  found  in  the  soft  serenity  of  the  season  in 
which  he  landed,  an  apt  emblem  of  those  happy  and  useful  days  he 
was  to  pass  in  America.  The  rest  of  his  life,  like  the  other  parts  of 
the  year  in  this  climate,  was  vexed  with  many  fierce  and  sudden  varie- 
ties of  change,  but  the  period  of  his  administration  in  America,  was 
destined  to  be,  like  the  American  autumn,  mild,  calm,  bright,  and 
abounding  in  rich  fruits. 

Here,  his  genius  seemed  to  expand,  as  if  to  fit  itself  for  a  grander 
scene  of  action  ;  while  his  benevolence  grew  warmer  amid  "  the  sweet 
quiet  of  these  parts,"  to  use  his  own  beautiful  language,  "  freed  from 
the  troublesome  and  anxious  solicitations,  hurries,  and  perplexities  of 
woful  Europe."  In  all  outward  things  he  was  well  satisfied,  and  he 
had  no  desire  left,  but  that  of  doing  good.  "The  land,"  said  he,  "is 
rich,  the  air  clear  and  sweet,  the  springs  plentiful,  and  provisions  good 


84  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

and  easy  to  come  at :  in  fine,  here  is  what  an  Abraham,  Isaac,  and 
Jacob  would  be  well  contented  with ;  and  service  enough  for  God,  for 
the  fields  are  here  white  for  harvest." 

The  history  of  man  does  not  furnish  any  more  interesting  scene,  nor 
one  calling  up  finer  associations  or  more  generous  sympathies,  than  the 
first  conference  of  William  Penn  and  his  followers  with  the  savage 
chiefs ;  when,  to  recur  again  to  his  own  inimitable  words,  "  they  met 
on  the  broad  pathway  of  good  faith  and  good-will,  so  that  no  advantage 
was  taken  on  either  side,  but  all  was  openness,  brotherhood,  and  love." 

Montesquieu,  with  his  usual  brilliant  and  ambitious  originality,  has 
styled  Penn  the  modern  Lycurgus.  Paradoxical  as  this  strange  asso- 
ciation of  names  may  at  first  appear,  there  is  one  marked  point  of 
resemblance  between  the  Spartan  and  the  Pennsylvanian  legislator; 
widely  as  they  differed  in  the  character  of  their  institutions,  and  the 
ultimate  ends  of  their  ambition. 

It  is  the  peculiar  glory  of  these  two,  above  all  the  other  legislators  of 
mankind,  to  have  possessed  that  self-balanced  and  confident  energy  of 
mind,  which  could  enable  them  to  disregard  all  considerations  of  tem- 
porary expediency  and  private  interest,  and  to  make  every  part  of  their 
system  harmonize  in  perfect  unison  with  those  leading  principles  which 
were  to  pervade,  animate,  and  govern  every  portion  of  the  state. 

From  "  Address  before  New  York  Historical  Society." 


THE   SPEEAD    OF   KNOWLEDGE. 

CHANNING. 

BOOKS  are  now  placed  within  reach  of  all.  Works,  once  too  costly 
except  for  the  opulent,  are  now  to  be  found  on  the  laborer's  shelf. 
Genius  sends  its  light  into  cottages.  The  great  names  of  literature 
have  become  household  words  among  the  crowd.  Every  party,  reli- 
'gious  or  political,  scatters  its  sheets  on  all  the  winds.  We  may 
lament,  and  too  justly,  the  small  comparative  benefit  as  yet  accom- 
plished by  this  agency ;  but  this  ought  not  to  surprise  or  discourage 
us.  In  our  present  state  of  improvement,  books  of  little  worth, 
deficient  in  taste  and  judgment,  and  ministering  to  men's  prejudices 
and  passions,  will  almost  certainly  be  circulated  too  freely.  Men  are 
never  very  wise  and  select  in  the  exercise  of  a  new  power.  Mistake, 
error,  is  the  discipline  through  which  we  advance.  It  is  an  undoubted 
fact,  that,  silently,  books  of  a  higher  order  are  taking  place  of  the 
worthless.  Happily,  the  instability  of  the  human  mind  works  some- 
times for  good  as  well  as  evil ;  men  grow  tired  at  length  even  of 
amusements. 

The  remarks  now  made  on  literature  might  be  extended  to-  the  fine 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  85 

arts.  In  these  we  see,  too,  the  tendency  to  universality.  It  is  said 
that  the  spirit  of  the  great  artists  has  died  out ;  but  the  taste  for  their 
works  is  spreading.  By  the  improvements  of  engraving,  and  the 
invention  of  casts,  the  genius  of  the  great  masters  is  going  abroad. 
Their  conceptions  are  no  longer  pent  up  in  galleries  open  to  but  few, 
but  meet  us  in  our  homes,  and  are  the  household  pleasures  of  millions. 
Works,  designed  for  the  halls  and  eyes  of  emperors,  popes,  and 
nobles,  find  their  way,  in  no  poor  representations,  into  humble  dwell- 
ings, and  sometimes  give  a  consciousness  of  kindred  powers  to  the 
child  of  poverty.  The  art  of  drawing,  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of 
most  of  the  fine  arts,  and  is  the  best  education  of  the  eye  for  nature,  is 
becoming  a  branch  of  common  education. 

Thus  we  see,  in  the  intellectual  movements  of  our  times,  the  ten- 
dency to  expansion,  to  universality  ;  and  this  must  continue.  It  is  not 
an  accident,  or  an  inexplicable  result,  or  a  violence  on  nature ;  it  is 
founded  in  eternal  truth.  Every  mind  was  made  for  growth,  for 
knowledge;  and  its  nature  is  sinned  against  when  it  is  doomed  to 
ignorance.  Every  being  is  intended  to  acquaint  himself  with  God 
and  his  works,  and  to  perform  wisely  and  disinterestedly  the  duties  of 
life.  Accordingly,  when  we  see  the  multitude  of  men  beginning  to 
thirst  for  knowledge,  for  intellectual  action,  for  something  more  than 
animal  life,  we  see  the  great  design  of  Nature  about  to  be  accom- 
plished ;  and  society,  having  received  this  impulse,  will  never  rest  till 
it  shall  have  taken  such  a  form  as  will  place  within  every  man's  reach 
the  means  of  intellectual  culture.  This  is  the  revolution  to  which  we 
are  tending :  and  without  this,  all  outward  political  changes  would  be 
but  children's  play,  leaving  the  great  work  of  society  yet  to  be  done. 

From  "  Essays." 


THE   HEAVENS   PROCLAIM   THE   DEITY. 

0.  M.  MlTCHEL. 

WOULD  you  gather  some  idea  of  the  eternity  past  of  God's  existence, 
go  to  the  astronomer,  and  bid  him  lead  you  with  him  in  one  of  his 
walks  through  space ;  and,  as  he  sweeps  outward  from  object  to  object, 
from  universe  to  universe,  remember  that  the  light  from  those  filmy 
stains  on  the  deep  pure  blue  of  heaven,  now  falling  on  your  eye,  has 
been  traversing  space  for  a  million  of  years.  Would  you  gather  some 
knowledge  of  the  omnipotence  of  God,  weigh  the  earth  on  which  we 
dwell,  then  count  the  millions  of  its  inhabitants  that  have  come  and 
gone  for  the  last  six  thousand  years.  Unite  their  strength  into  one 
arm,  and  test  its  power  in  an  effort  to  moye  this  earth.  It  could  not 
stir  it  a  single  foot  in  a  thousand  years  ;  and  yet  under  the  omnipotent 


80  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

hand  of  God,  not  a  minute  passes  that  it  does  not  fly  for  more  than  a 
thousand  miles.  But  this  is  a  mere  atom ; — the  most  insignificant 
point  among  his  innumerable  worlds.  At  his  bidding,  every  planet, 
and  satellite,  and  comet,  and  the  sun  himself,  fly  onward  in  their 
appointed  courses.  His  single  arm  guides  the  millions  of  sweeping 
suns,  and  around  His  throne  circles  the  great  constellation  of  unnum- 
bered universes. 

Would  you  comprehend  the  idea  of  the  omniscience  of  God,  remem- 
ber that  the  highest  pinnacle  of  knowledge  reached  by  the  whole  human 
race,  by  the  combined  efforts  of  its  brightest  intellects,  has  enabled  the 
astronomer  to  compute  approximately  the  perturbations  of  the  planetary 
worlds.  He  has  predicted  roughly  the  return  of  half  a  score  of  comets. 
But  God  has  computed  the  mutual  perturbations  of  millions  of  suns, 
and  planets,  and  comets,  and  worlds,  without  number,  through  the  ages 
that  are  passed,  and  throughout  the  ages  which  are  yet  to  come,  not 
approximately,  but  with  perfect  and  absolute  precision.  The  universe 
is  in  motion, — system  rising  above  system,  cluster  above  cluster,  nebula 
above  nebula, — all  majestically  sweeping  around  under  the  providence 
of  God,  who  alone  knows  the  end  from  the  beginning,  and  before 
whose  glory  and  power  all  intelligent  beings,  whether  in  heaven  or  on 
earth,  should  bow  with  humility  and  awe. 

Would  you  gain  some  idea  of  the  wisdom  of  God,  look  to  the  admi- 
rable adjustments  of  the  magnificent  retinue  of  planets  and  satellites 
which  sweep  around  the  sun.  Every  globe  has  been  weighed  and 
poised,  every  orbit  has  been  measured  and  bent  to  its  beautiful  form. 
All  is  changing,  but  the  laws  fixed  by  the  wisdom  of  God,  though  they 
permit  the  rocking  to  and  fro  of  the  system,  never  introduce  disorder, 
or  lead  to  destruction.  All  is  perfect  and  harmonious,  and  the  music 
of  the  spheres  that  burn  and  roll  around  our  sun  is  echoed  by  that  of 
ten  millions  of  moving  worlds,  that  sing  and  shine  around  the  bright 
suns  that  reign  above. 

From  "  Planetary  and  Stellar  Worlds." 


THE  FKANKS. 

AUGUSTIN  THIERRY. 

IN  1810,  I  was  finishing  my  studies  at  the  College  of  Blois,  when  a 
copy  of  "  Les  Martyrs,"  brought  from  without,  circulated  through  the 
college.  It  was  a  great  event  for  those  amongst  us  who  already  felt  a 
love  of  the  beautiful  and  of  glory.  We  quarrelled  for  Ihe  book ;  it  was 
arranged  that  each  one  should  have  it  by  turns,  and  mine  fell  on  a 
holiday,  at  the  hour  of  going  out  walking.  That  day  I  pretended  to 
have  hurt  my  foot,  and  remained  alone  at  home.  I  read,  or  rather 
devoured  the  pages,  seated  before  my  desk  in  a  vaulted  room,  which 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  87 

was  our  school-room,  and  the  aspect  of  which  appeared  to  me  grand 
and  imposing.  I  at  first  felt  a  vague  delight,  my  imagination  was 
dazzled;  but  when  I  came  to  the  recital  of  Eudore,  that  living  history 
of  the  declining  empire,  a  more  active  and  reflecting  interest  attached 
me  to  the  picture  of  the  Eternal  City,  of  the  court  of  a  Roman  emperor, 
the  march  of  a  Roman  army  in  the  marshes  of  Batavia,  and  its  encoun- 
ter with  an  army  of  Franks. 

I  had  read  in  the  history  of  France,  used  by  the  scholars  of  the 
military  college,  and  our  classical  book,  "  The  Franks,  or  French, 
already  masters  of  Tournay,  and  the  banks  of  the  Escaut,  had  extended 
their  conquests  as  far  as  Somme.  .  .  .  Clovis,  son  of  King  Childeric, 
ascended  the  throne  481,  and  by  his  victories  strengthened  the  founda- 
tions of  the  French  monarchy."  All  my  archaeology  of  the  middle 
ages  consisted  in  these  sentences,  and  some  others  of  the  same  kind, 
which  I  had  learned  by  heart.  French,  throne,  monarchy,  were  to  me 
the  beginning  and  end,  the  groundwork  and  the  form  of  our  na- 
tional history.  Nothing  had  given  me  any  notion  of  M.  de  Chateau- 
briand's terrible  Franks,  clothed  in  the  skins  of  bears,  seals,  and  wild 
boars,  and  of  the  camp  guarded  by  leathern  boats,  and  chariots  drawn  by 
huge  oxen,  of  the  army  placed  in  the  form  of  a  triangle,  in  which  could 
be  distinguished  nothing  but  a  forest  of  javelins,  of  wild  beasts'  skins,  and 
half-naked  bodies."  As  the  dramatic  contrast  between  the  savage  war- 
rior and  the  civilized  soldier  gradually  developed  itself,  I  was  more  and 
more  deeply  struck ;  the  impression  made  on  me  by  the  war-song  of 
the  Franks  was  something  electrical.  I  left  the  place  where  I  was 
seated,  and  marching  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other,  repeated 
aloud,  and  making  my  steps  ring  on  the  pavement : — 

"Pharamond!  Pharamond  !  $re  have  fought  with  the  sword. 

"  We  have  hurled  the  battle-axe  with  two  blades ;  sweat  ran  from 
the  brow  of  the  warriors,  and  trickled  down  their  arms.  The  eagles 
and  birds  with  yellow  feet  uttered  screams  of  joy  ;  the  crows  swam  in 
the  blood  of  the  dead ;  all  ocean  was  but  a  wound.  The  virgins  have 
long  wept. 

"  Pharamond !  Pharamond !  we  have  fought  with  the  sword. 

"  Our  fathers  fell  in  battle,  all  the  vultures  moaned  at  it:  our  fathers 
satiated  them  with  carnage.  Let  us  choose  wives  whose  milk  shall  be 
blood,  and  shall  fill  with  valor  the  hearts  of  our  sons.  Pharamond,  the 
song  of  the  bard  is  ended,  the  hours  of  life  are  passing  away ;  we  will 
smile  when  we  must  die. 

"  Thus  sang  forty  thousand  barbarians.  The  riders  raised  and  low- 
ered their  white  shields  in  cadence ;  and  at  each  burden,  they  struck 
their  iron-clad  chests  with  the  iron  of  their  javelins." 

From  "  Preface  to  Recil  des  Temps  i&erovingiens." 


88  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE  HOUSE   OF   REFUGE. 

JOHN  SERGEANT. 

THE  philanthropist  and  the  statesman  may  here  concur.  He  who 
desires  the  welfare  of  all  mankind,  and  he  who  only  seeks  to  arrange 
the  movement  of  a  community  so  as  to  produce  security  and  peace, 
will  equally  find  his  purpose  promoted.  And  even  the  most  rigid  eco- 
nomist, looking  only  to  the  pecuniary  cost  (if  any  such  fchere  be),  will  have 
nothing  to  object.  The  expense  of  maintaining  a  refuge  is  not  greater 
than  the  expense  of  maintaining  a  jail.  The  amount  required  to  sup- 
port its  inmates  is  less  than  the  cost  of  an  equal  number  in  prison. 
And  if,  enlarging  his  view,  he  recollects,  that  those  who  begin  their 
days  in  a  jail,  most  commonly  become  a  burden  for  life,  subsisted  by 
the  public  while  in,  and  by  plunder  when  out ;  whereas  the  refuge, 
working  a  reform,  enables  them  to  support  themselves,  and  to  con- 
tribute something  to  the  general  expenses  of  society;  that  the  one 
enlarges  the  sources  of  crime,  and  swells  the  streams  that  flow  from  it, 
and  the  other  seeks  to  diminish  the  fountain  of  iniquity,  and  dry  up  its 
noxious  issues ;  he  will  be  convinced  that  a  just  economy  walks  hand 
in  hand  with  charity  and  policy. 

If  at  this  moment  you  should  see  a  destitute  and  helpless  child 
approaching  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  and  know  that  its  ignorant  steps 
would  in  a  few  moments  lead  it  to  destruction,  would  you  not  reach 
forth  your  hand  to  save  it  ?  Many  are  on  their  way  to  that  yawning 
monster,  a  jail,  which  devours  all  that  is  sound  and  healthful  in  their 
nature,  and  fills  the  vacant  space  with  corruption.  Will  you  not,  from, 
your  abundance,  give  something  to  save  them  from  imminent  ruin,  and 
yourselves  from  the  infliction  you  must  suffer  from  them,  or  will  you 
allow  the  mischief  to  spread  and  grow  till  some  other  hand  shall 
check  it  ? 

It  was  said  of  an  eminent  heathen  sage,  that  he  brought  philosophy 
from  the  clouds,  and  fixed  her  abode  among  men.  The  Christian's 
philosophy  comes  from  heaven,  brought  by  no  mortal  hands,  but  freely 
given  to  man  for  his  own  benefit  and  guidance.  It  teaches  us  that 
charity  is  like  unto  the  duty  enjoined  by  the  "first  and  great  com- 
mandment/' 

From  "  Address  in  Philadelphia,"  1828. 


THE   DUTCH   REPUBLIC. 

G.  C.  VERPLANCK. 


AFTER  having  beaten  down  and  broken  for  ever  the  colossal  power 
of  the  Spanish  monarchy,  the  Dutch  republic  continued,  for  nearly  a 
century,  to  hold  the  balance  of  European  olitics  with  a  strong  and 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  89 

steady  hand ;  and  when  the  rest  of  the  continent  crouched  under  the 
menaces,  and  the  English  court  was  bought  by  the  gold  of  France,  she 
stood  alone  and  undaunted,  defending  the  liberties  of  the  world  with  a 
perseverance  and  self-devotion  never  surpassed  by  any  nation.  During 
the  same  period  she  had  served  the  cause  of  freedom  ajid  reason,  in 
another  and  much  more  effectual  manner,  by  breaking  down  the  old 
aristocratic  contempt  for  the  mercantile  character ;  and  her  merchants, 
while  they  amazed  the  world  by  an  exhibition  of  the  wonderful  effects 
of  capital  and  credit,  directed  by  sagacity  and  enterprise,  and  operating 
on  a  vaster  scale,  than  had  ever  before  been  seen,  shamed  the  poor 
prejudices  of  their  age  out  of  countenance  by  a  high-minded  and  punc- 
tilious honesty,  before  which,  the  more  lax  commercial  morality  of  their 
degenerate  descendants  in  this  country  should  stand  rebuked. 

It  was  about  this  same  remarkable  period  of  her  history,  that  Hol- 
land produced  many  of  the  most  illustrious  men  of  modern  Europe. 
There  are  no  greater  names,  in  politics  and  arms,  than  Barneveldt  and 
Dewitt,  than  Tromp  and  De  Ruyter,  than  Prince  Maurice  and  the  Wil- 
liams of  Orange — none  more  conspicuous  in  letters  and  philosophy  than 
those  of  Erasmus,  Grotius,  and  Boerhave.  In  physical  and  mathematical 
science,  with  the  single  exception  of  the  discoveries  of  Newton,  nearly 
as  much  was  done  in  Holland  as  in  all  the  rest  of  Europe  besides.  It 
was  there  that  were  invented  the  most  important  and  useful  instru- 
ments of  Natural  Philosophy  ;  the  telescope,  by  Jansen  ;  the  microscope 
and  the  thermometer,  by  Drebell ;  the  pendulum,  in  its  application  to 
clocks  and  as  a  standard  of  measure,  by  Huyghens ;  and  the  Leyden 
Phial,  by  Cuneus  and  Muschenbroek.  The  Medical  School  of  Leyden,  in 
the  time  of  Boerhave  and  his  immediate  successors,  was  what  that  of 
Edinburgh  has  since  become,  ^n  ancient  literature,  the  scholars  of 
Holland  effected  all  that  learning  and  industry  could  accomplish,  and 
prepared  the  way  for  that  very  ingenious  and  philosophical  investiga- 
tion of  the  principles  of  language  which  has  since  been  so  successfully 
cultivated  in  the  Dutch  Universities.  Her  jurists  were  the  expounders 
of  public  and  of  civil  law  to  the  continent,  and  the  theologians  of  the 
whole  protestant  world  entered  into  the  controversies  of  the  Dutch 
divines,  and  had  ranked  themselves,  on  either  side,  under  the  banners 

of  Gomar  and  Arminius. 

From  "  Address  before  New  York  Historical  Society." 


THE   USE   OF   KNOWLEDGE. 

CARDINAL  WISEMAN. 

WHOSOEVER  shall  try  to  cultivate  a  wider  field,  and  follow,  from 
day  to  day,  as  humbly  we  have  striven  here  to  do,  the  constant  progress 
of  every  science,  careful  ever  to  note  the  influence  which  it  exercises  on 
8* 


90  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

his  more  sacred  knowledge,  shall  have  therein  such  pure  joy,  and  such 
growing  comfort,  as  the  disappointing  eagerness  of  mere  human  learn- 
ing may  not  supply.  Such  a  one  I  know  not  unto  whom  to  liken,  save 
to  one  who  unites  an  enthusiastic  love  of  Nature's  charms,  to  a  suffi- 
cient acquaintance  with  her  laws,  and  spends  his  days  in  a  garden  of 
the  choicest -bloom.  And  here  he  seeth  one  gorgeous  flower,  that  has 
unclasped  all  its  beauty  to  the  glorious  sun  ;  and  there  another  is  just 
about  to  disclose  its  modester  blossom,  not  yet  fully  unfolded ;  and 
beside  them,  there  is  one  only  in  the  hand-stem,  giving  but  slender 
promise  of  much  display  ;  and  yet  he  waiteth  patiently,  well  knowing 
that  the  law  is  fixed  whereby  it  too  shall  pay,  in  due  season,  its  tribute 
to  the  light  and  heat  that  feed  it.  Even  so,  the  other  doth  likewise 
behold  one  science  after  the  other,  when  its  appointed  hour  is  come, 
and  its  ripening  influences  have  prevailed,  unclose  some  form  which 
shall  add  to  the  varied  harmony  of  universal  truth,  which  shall  recom- 
pense, to  the  full,  the  genial  power  that  hath  given  it  life,  and,  how- 
ever barren  it  may  have  seemed  at  first,  produce  something  that  may 
adorn  the  temple  and  altar  of  God's  worship. 

And  if  he  carefully  register  his  own  convictions,  and  add  them  to  the 
collections  already  formed,  of  various,  converging  proofs,  he  assuredly 
will  have  accomplished  the  noblest  end  for  which  man  may  live  and 
acquire  learning,  his  own  improvement,  and  the  benefit  of  his  kind. 
For,  as  an  old  and  wise  poet  has  written,  after  a  wiser  saint : — 

"  The  chief  use  then  in  man  of  that  he  knowes, 
Is  his  paines-taking  for  the  good  of  all, 
Not  fleshly  weeping  for  our  own  made  woes, 
Not  laughing  from  a  melancholy  gall, 
Not  hating  from  a  soul  that  overflowes 
With  bitterness  breathed  out  frflBa  inward  thrall ; 
But  sweetly  rather  to  ease,  loose,  or  binde, 
As  need  requires,  this  fraile  fallen  human  kinde." 

From  "  Lectures  on  Science,  and  Religion." 


ENGLISH  PKISONS. 

STDirar  SMITH 

IN  this  age  of  charity  and  of  prison  improvement,  there  is  one  aid  to 
prisoners  which  appears  to  be  wholly  overlooked  ;  and  that  is,  the  means 
of  regulating  their  defence,  and  providing  them  witnesses  for  their 
trial.  A  man  is  tried  for  murder,  or  for  house-breaking,  or  robbery, 
without  a  single  shilling  in  his  pocket.  The  nonsensical  and  capricious 
institutions  of  the  English  law,  prevent  him  from  engaging  counsel  to 
epeak  in  his  defence,  if  he  had  the  wealth  of  Croesus ;  but  he  has  no 
money  to  employ  even  an  attorney,  or  to  procure  a  single  witness,  or  to 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  91 

take  out  a  subpoena.  The  judge,  we  are  told,  is  his  counsel ; — this  is 
sufficiently  absurd;  but  it  is  not  pretended  that  the  judge  is  his  wit- 
ness. He  solemnly  declares  that  he  has  three  or  four  witnesses  who 
could  give  a  completely  different  color  to  the  transaction  ; — but  they  are 
sixty  or  seventy  miles  distant,  working  for  their  daily  bread,  and  have 
no  money  for  such  a  journey,  nor  for  the  expense  of  a  residence  of  some 
davs  in  an  assize  town.  They  do  not  know  even  the  time  of  the  assize, 
nor  the  modes  of  tendering  their  evidence  if  they  could  come.  When 
everything  is  so  well  marshalled  against  him  on  the  opposite  side,  it 
would  be  singular  if  an  innocent  man,  with  such  an  absence  of  all 
means  of  defending  himself,  should  not  occasionally  be  hanged  or  trans- 
ported :  and  accordingly  we  believe  that  such  things  have  happened. 
Let  any  man,  immediately  previous  to  the  assizes,  visit  the  prisoners 
for  trial,  and  see  the  many  wretches  who  are  to  answer  to  the  most 
serious  accusations,  without  one  penny  to  defend  themselves.  If  it 
appeared  probable,  upon  inquiry,  that  these  poor  creatures  had  impor- 
tant evidence,  which  they  could  not  bring  into  court  for  want  of  money, 
would  it  not  be  a  wise  application  of  compassionate  funds  to  give  them 
this  fair  chance  of  establishing  their  innocence  ? — It  seems  to  us  no  bad 
finale  of  the  pious  labors  of  those  who  guard  the  poor  from  ill-treat- 
ment during  their  imprisonment,  to  take  care  that  they  are  not  unjustly 
hanged  at  the  expiration  of  the  term. 

From  "Reviews,"  1821. 


IKELAND   AND   GKATTAN. 

SYDNEY  SMITH. 

THANK  God  that  all  is  not  profligacy  and  corruption  in  the  history 
of  that  devoted  people — and  that  the  name  of  Irishman  does  not  always 
carry  with  it  the  idea  of  the  oppressor  or  the  oppressed — the  plunderer 
or  the  plundered — the  tyrant  or  the  slave.  Great  men  hallow  a  whole 
people,  and  lift  up  all  who  live  in  their  time.  What  Irishman  does  not 
feel  proud  that  he  has  lived  in  the  days  of  GRATTAN  ?  who  has  not 
turned  to  him  for  comfort,  from  the  false  friends  and  open  enemies  of 
Ireland  ?  who  did  not  remember  him  in  the  days  of  its  burnings  and 
wastings  and  murders  ?  No  government  ever  dismayed  him — the  world 
could  not  bribe  him — he  thought  only  of  Ireland — lived  for  no  other 
object — dedicated  to  her  his  beautiful  fancy,  his  elegant  wit,  his  manly 
courage,  and  all  the  splendor  of  his  astonishing  eloquence.  He  was  so 
born  and  so  gifted,  thut  poetry,  forensic  skill,  elegant  literature,  and 
all  the  highest  attainments  of  human  genius,  were  within  his  reach ; 
but  he  thought  the  noblest  occupation  of  a  man  was  to  make  other  men 
happy  and  free  ;  and  in  that  straight  line  he  went  on  for  fifty  years, 
without  one  side-look,  without  one  yielding  thought,  without  one  motive 


92  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

in  his  heart  which  he  might  not  have  laid  open  to  the  view  of  God  and 
man.  He  is  gone  ! — but  there  is  not  a  single  day  of  his  honest  life  of 
which  every  good  Irishman  would  not  be  more  proud,  than  of  the  whole 
political  existence  of  his  countrymen — the  annual  deserters  and  betray- 
ers of  their  native  land. 

From  "Reviews,"  1821. 


RAPID  PROGRESS  IN  AGRICULTURE. 

W.  M.  MEREDITH. 

THE  advance  is  going  on.  We  shall  step  from  improvement  to  im- 
provement, until  agriculture,  like  the  other  sciences,  will  necessarily 
have  had  its  day.  A  little  explanation  will  make  this  obvious.  Our 
chemists  have  analyzed  both  the  plants,  and  the  animals,  and  the 
earth.  We  are  no  longer  in  the  dark.  For  instance,  we  will  suppose 
there  is  some  individual  whose  backbone  wants  a  little  stiffening — an 
uncommon  case  in  this  quarter,  sir.  Chemistry  tells  him  that  he 
wants  a  particular  quantity  of  phosphate  of  lime,  I  think.  How  does 
he  get  it  ?  Why,  sir,  you  have  to  take  that  phosphate  of  lime  and  put 
it  in  the  earth ;  then  you  sow  the  wheat ;  then  you  take  it  out  of  the 
earth,  and  it  must  pass  through  a  variety  of  processes — reaping,  thresh- 
ing, grinding,  &c. ;  you  have  your  machines  working  away  at  it  by 
steam — (I  acknowledge  that  you  have  reduced  already  all  the  peasantry 
of  your  country  to  one  engineer,  and  a  stoker  for  each  farm,  so  that  a 
man  with  his  eyes  shut  cannot  tell  whether  he  is  on  a  farm  or  a  steam- 
boat)— you  must  put  the  phosphate  of  lime  in  the  ground  and  coax  it 
out  with  wheat,  and  reap  it,  and  thresh  it,  and  grind  it,  knead  it,  bake 
it,  and  then  cut  it  into  slices  and  put  in  your  mouth. 

The  next  great  inventor, — I  hope  it  may  not  be  you,  sir,  because  I 
think  immortality  of  that  kind  is  not  what  you  desire — will  look  to 
saving  all  these  intermediate  processes  of  labor,  and  putting  the  phos- 
phate of  lime  right  into  the  man's  mouth.  Like  Columbus  with  the 
egg,  the  simplicity  of  the  thing  will  be  so  great,  that  everybody  will 
wonder  that  it  was  not  thought  of  sooner.  In  medicine  we  have  acted 
upon  this  principle  for  centuries.  When  the  doctor  wants  to  administer 
a  little  mineral  of  some  sort,  some  calomel,  or  magnesia,  or  anything 
of  that  kind,  he  does  not  go  about  planting  seed,  and  reaping  a  crop, 
and  then  making  it  into  bread,  but  he  gives  it  to  you  at  once ;  he  pops 
it  right  down  your  throat ;  he  thrusts  the  magnesia  right  into  your 
gullet,  and  it  will  do  what  it  was  intended  to  do.  Now,  sir,  they  will 
apply  that  to  food.  I  am  rather  conservative ;  I  do  not  enter  into 
these  questions  of  progress ;  I  go  for  things  as  they  are,  and  I  am  con- 
tent to  be  fed  as  we  have  been.  Therefore,  I  hope  it  will  be  some 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  93 

remote  successor  of  yours  who  will  preside  at  a  banquet  of  this  kind. 
The  first  course  will  be  a  phosphate  of  lime  and  carbonate  of  magnesia  ; 
there  will  be  a  side  dish  of  super-phosphate  of  iron,  and  a  sort  of  omelette 

souflt,  of  gluten. 

From  "  Speech  before  United  States  -Agricultural  Society" 


THE  WONDERS   OF   THE   DEEP. 

ANONYMOUS. 

WHO  ever  gazed  upon  the  broad  sea  without  emotion  ?  whether  seen 
in  stern  majesty,  hoary  with  the  tempest,  rolling  its  giant  waves  upon 
the  rocks,  and  dashing  with  resistless  fury  some  gallant  bark  on  an  iron- 
bound  coast ;  or  sleeping  beneath  the  silver  moon,  its  broad  bosom 
broken  but  by  a  gentle  ripple,  just  enough  to  reflect  a  long  line  of 
light,  a  path  of  gold  upon  a  pavement  of  sapphire ;  who  has  looked 
upon  the  sea  without  feeling  that  it  has  power?  Perhaps  there  is 
no  earthly  object,  not  even  the  cloud-cleaving  mountains  of  an  alpine 
country,  so  sublime  as  the  sea  in  its  severe  and  marked  simplicity. 
Standing  on  some  promontory,  whence  the  eye  roams  far  out  from  the 
unbounded  ocean,  the  soul  expands,  and  we  conceive  a  nobler  idea  of 
the  majesty  of  that  God,  who  holdeth  "  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand/7  But  it  is  only  when  on  a  long  voyage,  climbing,  day  after 
day,  to  the  giddy  elevation  of  the  masthead,  one  still  discerns  nothing 
in  the  wide  circumference  but  the  same  boundless  wastes  of  waters, 
that  the  mind  grasps  anything  approaching  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
grandeur  of  the  ocean. 

Mailed  and  glittering  creatures  of  strange  form  suddenly  appear, 
play  a  moment  in  our  sight,  and,  with  the  velocity  of  thought,  vanish 
into  the  boundless  depths.  The  very  birds  that  we  see  in  the  wide 
wastes  are  mysterious ;  we  wonder  whence  they  come,  whither  they 
go,  how  they  sleep,  homeless  and  shelterless  as  they  seem  to  be.  The 
breeze,  so  fickle  in  its  visitings,  rises  and  dies  away;  "  but  thou  knowest 
not  whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it  goeth  ;"  the  night  wind  moaning 
by,  soothes  the  watchful  helmsman  with  gentle  sounds,  that  suggest  to 
him  the  whisperings  of  unseen  spirits ;  or  the  tempest,  shrieking  and 
groaning  among  the  cordage,  turns  him  pale  with  the  anticipation  of  a 
watery  grave. 


ASPECTS  OF  THE   OECAN. 

ANONYMOUS. 

THE  ocean  is  never  perfectly  at  rest ;  even  between  the  tropics,  in 
what  are  called  the  calm  latitudes,  where  the  impatient  seaman,  for 
weeks  together,  looks  wistfully  but  vainly  for  the  welcome  breeze  to 


94  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

waft  his  vessel  onwards,  which,  like  that  of  the  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  la 
almost  as 

"  idle  as  a  painted  ship, 
Upon  a  painted  ocean  ;" 

even  here  the  smooth  and  glittering  surface  is  not  entirely  at  rest ;  for 
long  gentle  undulations,  which  cause  the  taper  mast  to  describe  lines 
and  angles  upon  the  sky,  are  sufficiently  perceptible  to  tantalize  the 
mariner  with  the  thought,  that  the  breeze,  which  mocks  his  desires,  is 
blowing  freshly  and  gallantly  elsewhere. 

The  ocean  is  the  highway  of  commerce.  God  seems  wisely  and 
graciously  to  have  ordained  that  man  should  not  be  independent,  but 
under  perpetual  obligation  to  his  fellow-man,  and  that  distant  countries 
should  ever  maintain  a  mutually  beneficial  dependence  on  each  other. 
He  might  have  made  every  land  produce  every  necessary  and  comfort 
of  life  in  ample  supply  for  its  own  population  ;  the  result  of  the  separa- 
tion has  been,  generally,  an  easy  means  of  exchanging  home  for  foreign 
productions,  which  constitutes  commerce. 

It  is  lamentably  true  that  the  evil  passions  of  men  have  often  per- 
verted the  facilities  of  communication  for  purposes  of  destruction,  yet 
the  sober  verdict  of  mankind  has  for  the  most  part  been,  that  the 
substantial  blessings  of  friendly  commerce  are  preferable  to  martial 
glory.  And  the  transport  of  goods  of  considerable  bulk  and  weight, 
or  of  such  as  are  of  a  very  perishable  nature,  would  be  so  difficult  by 
land  as  very  materially  to  increase  their  cost ;  while  land  communica- 
tion between  countries,  tens  of  thousands  of  miles  apart,  would  be 
attended  with  difficulties  so  great  as  to  be  practicably  insurmountable. 


FAKEWELL  TO   THE  ARMY  AT  FONTAINEBLEAU,  1814. 

NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

SOLDIERS  !  receive  my  adieu.  During  twenty  years  that  we  have 
lived  together,  I  am  satisfied  with  you.  I  have  always  found  you  in  the 
paths  of  glory.  All  the  powers  of  Europe  have  armed  against  me. 
Some  of  my  generals  have  betrayed  their  trust  and  France.  My 
country  herself  has  wished  another  destiny :  with  you,  and  the  other 
brave  men  who  have  remained  true  to  me,  I  could  have  maintained  a 
civil  war :  but  France  would  have  been  unhappy. 

Be  faithful  to  your  new  king.  Be  submissive  to  your  new  generals  ; 
and  do  not  abandon  our  dear  country.  Mourn  not  my  fortunes.  I 
shall  be  happy  while  I  am  sure  of  your  happiness.  I  might  have  died ; 
but  if  I  have  consented  to  live,  it  is  still  to  serve  your  glory ;  I  shall 
record  now  the  great  deeds  which  we  have  done  together. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  95 

Bring  me  the  eagle  standard  ;  let  me  press  it  to  my  heart.  Farewell, 
my  children  ;  my  hearty  wishes  go  with  you.  Preserve  me  in  your 
memories. 


CHARLEMAGNE. 

MONTESQUIEU. 

CHARLEMAGNE  made  such  an  adjustment  in  the  orders  of  the  state, 
that  they  were  fairly  counterbalanced,  and  that  he  remained  master. 
They  were  all  united  by  the  power  of  his  genius.  The  empire  was  sus- 
tained by  the  greatness  of  its  chief;  the  prince  was  great,  but  the  man 
greater.  He  made  admirable  laws.  He  did  more :  he  caused  them  to 
be  carried  out.  One  sees,  in  the  laws  of  this  prince,  a  spirit  of  fore- 
sight which  understands  everything,  and  a  power  which  leads  every- 
thing in  its  train  ;  all  pretexts  for  eluding  duty  are  done  away,  all 
negligences  punished,  abuses  reformed  or  prevented.  He  knew  how 
to  punish ;  he  knew  better  how  to  pardon.  Vast  in  his  plans,  simple 
in  execution,  no  one  has  ever  had  more  completely  the  art  of  doing 
the  greater  things  with  ease,  the  most  difficult  with  promptness. 

Unceasingly  he  travelled  over  his  vast  empire,  aiding  with  his  pow- 
erful hand  its  weaker  parts.  He  played  with  dangers,  and  especially 
those  which  almost  always  try  great  conquerors,— I  mean  conspiracies 
He  was  extremely  frugal  and  temperate ;  his  disposition  was  mild,  hi& 
manners  simple  ;  he  loved  to  mix  in  the  society  of  his  court :  if  he  had 
his  besetting  sins,  a  prince  who  always  governs  alone,  and  who  passes 
his  life  in  the  severe  toils  of  government,  may,  for  these  reasons,  find 

some  palliation  for  his  faults. 

Original  Translation. 


PROCLAMATION  TO   THE  ARMY   OF   ITALY. 

NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

SOLDIERS  :  You  have,  in  fifteen  days,  gained  six  victories,  taken  twenty 
standards,  fifty  pieces  of  cannon,  numerous  strongholds,  and  conquered 
the  richest  part  of  Piedmont;  you  have  made  fifteen  thousand  prison- 
ers ;  and  killed  or  wounded  more  than  ten  thousand  men. 

But,  I  must  not  dissemble  with  you  ;  you  have  as  yet  done  nothing, 
since  there  remains  still  much  to  be  done.  Neither  Turin  nor  Milan 
are  yours. 

You  were  stripped  of  everything  at  the  beginning  of  the  campaign  ; 
you  are  to-day  abundantly  provided.  The  magazines  taken  from  our 
enemies  are  numerous.  The  artillery  has  arrived.  The  country  has  a 
right  to  expect  great  things  of  you.  Will  you  justify  its  expectation? 
The  greatest  obstacles  doubtless  have  already  been  surmounted :  but 


96  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

you  have  yet  battles  to  fight,  towns  to  take,  rivers  to  cross.  Is  there 
among  you  one  whose  courage  begins  to  fail  ?  is  there  one  who  would 
prefer  to  return  upon  the  summits  of  the  Alps  and  Apennines,  to 
bear  patiently  the  insults  of  a  slavish  soldiery  ?  No !  there  is  none 
such  among  the  victors  of  Montenotte,  Millesimo,  Diego,  and  Mondovi. 
You  are  all  fired  with  the  wish  to  bear  afar  the  glory  of  the  French 
people ;  you  all  desire  to  humiliate  those  proud  kings  who  dared  to 
think  of  putting  us  in  fetters  ;  you  all  wish  to  dictate  a  glorious  peace 
which  shall  indemnify  France  for  the  immense  sacrifices  she  has  made. 
You  all  wish,  on  going  back  to  your  village  homes,  to  be  able  to  say 
with  pride:  "  I  was  of  the  conquering  army  of  Italy." 


WASHINGTON. 

CHARLES  PHILLIPS. 

IT  is  the  custom  of  your  board,  and  a  noble  one  it  is,  to  deck  the 
cup  of  the  gay  with  the  garland  of  the  great ;  and  surely,  even  in  the 
eyes  of  its  deity,  his  grape  is  not  the  less  lovely  when  glowing  beneath 
the  foliage  of  the  palm-tree  and  the  myrtle. — Allow  me  to  add  one 
flower  to  the  chaplet,  which,  though  it  sprang  in  America,  is  no  exotic. 
Virtue  planted  it,  and  it  is  naturalized  everywhere.  I  see  you  antici- 
pate me — I  see  you  concur  with  me,  that  it  matters  very  little  what 
immediate  spot  may  be  the  birth-place  of  such  a  man  as  WASHINGTON. 
No  people  can  claim,  no  country  can  appropriate  him  ;  the  boon  of 
Providence  to  the  human  race,  his  fame  is  eternity,  and  his  residence 
creation.  Though  it  was  the  defeat  of  our  arms,  and  the  disgrace  of 
our  policy,  I  almost  bless  the  convulsion  in  which  he  had  his  origin. 
If  the  heavens  thundered  and  the  earth  rocked,  yet,  when  the  storm 
passed,  how  pure  was  the  climate  that  it  cleared ;  how  bright  in  the 
brow  of  the  firmament  was  the  planet  which  it  revealed  to  us  !  In  the 
production  of  Washington,  it  does  really  appear  as  if  nature  was 
endeavoring  to  improve  upon  herself,  and  that  all  the  virtues  of  the 
ancient  world  were  but  so  many  studies  preparatory  to  the  patriot  of 
the  new.  Individual  instances  no  doubt  there  were ;  splendid  exem- 
plifications of  some  single  qualification.  Caesar  was  merciful,  Scipio 
was  continent,  Hannibal  was  patient ;  but  it  was  reserved  for  Wash- 
ington to  blend  them  all  in  one,  and  like  the  lovely  chef  d'ceuvre  of  the 
Grecian  artist,  to  exhibit  in  one  glow  of  associated  beauty,  the  pride 
of  every  model,  and  the  perfection  of  every  master.  As  a  general,  he 
marshalled  the  peasant  into  a  veteran,  and  supplied  by  discipline  tho 
absence  of  experience ;  as  a  statesman,  he  enlarged  the  policy  of  the 
cabinet  into  the  most  comprehensive  system  of  general  advantage  ;  and 
such  was  the  wisdom  of  his  views,  and  the  philosophy  of  his  counsels, 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  97 

that  to  the  soldier  and  the  statesman  he  almost  added  the  character  of 
the  sage !  a  conqueror,  he  was  untainted  with  the  crime  of  blood ;  a 
revolutionist,  he  was  free  from  any  stain  of  treason ;  for  aggression 
commenced  the  contest,  and  his  country  called  him  to  the  command. — 
Liberty  unsheathed  his  sword,  necessity  stained,  victory  returned  it. 
If  he  had  paused  here,  history  might  have  doubted  what  station  to 
assign  him,  whether  at  the  head  of  her  citizens  or  her  soldiers,  her 
heroes  or  her  patriots.  But  the  last  glorious  act  crowns  his  career, 
and  banishes  all  hesitation.  Who,  like  Washington,  after  having 
emancipated  a  hemisphere,  resigned  its  crown,  and  preferred  the  retire- 
ment of  domestic  life  to  the  adoration  of  a  land  he  might  be  almost 
said  to  have  created  ? 

"  How  shall  we  rank  thee  upon  glory's  page, 
Thou  more  than  soldier,  and  just  less  than  sage  ; 
All  thou  hast  been  reflects  less  fame  on  thee, 
Far  less  than  all  thou  hast  foreborne  to  be !" 

Such,  sir,  is  the  testimony  of  one  not  to  be  accused  of  partiality  iu 
his  estimate  of  America.  Happy,  proud  America!  the  lightnings  of 
heaven  yielded  to  your  philosophy !  The  temptations  of  earth  could 

not  seduce  your  patriotism  ! 

From  "  Speech  at  Dinat  Island." 


THE   INAUGURATION  OF  THE  MONUMENT  TO  HENRY   CLAY. 

JOHN  TYLER. 

I  FRANKLY  confess  that  I  did  not  anticipate  the  call  you  have  made 
upon  me.  I  came  prepared,  if  opportunity  was  given,  to  say  a  few 
words  of  the  distinguished  man  whose  memory  you  have,  as  far  as 
marble  could  do  it,  immortalized ;  but,  in  speaking  of  him,  I  shall,  of 
necessity,  speak  of  the  Union.  I  came  up  to  witness  the  proceedings 
of  to-day.  It  is  a  great  spectacle,  that  of  inaugurating  the  statue  of 
one  who  has  passed  away  from  earth ;  it  is  the  eternizing  his  name  as 
far  as  marble  can  accomplish  it ;  it  is  the  rescuing  from  the  tomb  those 
features  which  were  immovable  in  their  day  and  generation.  To  do 
this  on  those  grounds,  and  under  the  shadow  of  your  Capitol,  which  is 
hallowed  by  great  events  and  great  names — and  this,  too,  in  advance 
of  similar  tributes  to  the  heroes  and  statesmen  of  other  days,  who  drew 
their  sustenance  from  Virginia's  maternal  breast,  and  made  their 
names  illustrious — is  no  ordinary  event ;  and  yet  it  is  right.  It  is 
right  to  reclaim  the  resemblance,  while  it  may  be  done,  of  one  of  Vir- 
ginia's sons,  who  in  early  life  left  the  old  homestead  for  a  new  one  in 
the  West,  under  the  nursing  care  of  her  eldest  daughter.  It  may  be 
9  G 


98  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

said,  after  the  manner  of  the  inscription  on  the  tomb  of  the  Mantuan 
Swain,  Virginia  gave  him  birth ;  Kentucky  gave  him  a  grave  ;  the 
United  States  furnished  him  a  theatre  for  his  labors.  I  trust  the  day 
is  not  distant  when  those  public  grounds  will  exhibit  to  our  admiring 
people  the  risen  features  of  a  grand  host  of  departed  patriots,  each 
after  its  own  way,  to  be  a  silent  but  forcible  monitor  of  that  immortal- 
ity of  form  which  succeeds  a  life  of  high  and  honorable  action. 

From  "  Speech  at  Richmond  on  the  inauguration  of  Clay  Monument" 


THE   GREAT  MERITS   OF   HENRY   CLAY. 

JOHN  TYLER. 

THE  details  of  Mr.  Clay's  life  have  been  eloquently  given  by  the 
accomplished  orator  of  the  day.  It  is  not  because  I  admired  him  as  a 
man,  as  a  leader  in  debate,  as  an  orator  of  immense  powers,  that  I  am 
here  to-day.  No,  it  is  because  in  my  heart  I  believe  that  he  has  a  title 
to  a  monument  for  an  act  of  broad  and  unselfish  patriotism  in  the 
course  of  his  career  which,  standing  by  itself,  I  have  not  hesitated  at 
all  times,  and  in  all  places  when  it  was  suitable  to  say,  entitled  him 
not  only  to  a  monument  of  brass  or  marble,  but  to  one  in  the  hearts  of 
his  countrymen.  The  brow  of  the  Roman  citizen  who  had  saved  the 
life  of  another  in  battle,  was  encircled  by  an  oaken  wreath.  What 
badge  of  distinction  is  proud  enough  for  him  who  saves  his  country 
from  civil  war?  Ask  the  parent  who  enfolds  his  little  children  and  the 
companion  of  all  his  hopes  and  trials  and  triumphs  in  life,  in  his  arms, 
at  the  horrible  spectre  of  civil  broil  which  threatens  with  grim  aspect 
to  enter  his  heretofore  peaceful  dwelling — ask  the  lone  and  widowed 
mother  as  she  flies  to  the  rock  and  desert  with  her  infant  strained  to 
her  breast  and  concealed  from  view  by  the  tresses  of  her  streaming 
hair — ask  brave  and  stalwart  men  as  they  take  their  position  in  oppos- 
ing ranks  to  shed  each  other's  blood — ask  one,  ask  all,  what  monument 
he  deserves  who  drives  away  this  horrible  spectre  of  civil  war,  and 
restores  his  country  to  peace  and  confidence.  Nay,  more — ask  the 
lovers  of  freedom  all  over  the  world  what  is  the  measure  of  gratitude 
for  the  man  who  saves  that  glorious. banner,  without  a  star  shorn  of  its 
dazzling  lustre — the  herald,  if  so  preserved,  of  ultimate  freedom  to 
mankind,  from  being  torn  and  destroyed  in  the  bloody  arena  of  strife 
and  battle.  It  was  because,  in  my  innermost  heart,  I  believe  Henry 
Clay  did  this,  that  I  am  here  to-day. 

From  "  Speech  at  Richmond  on  the  inauguration  of  Clay  Monument." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  99 

ENGLISH   CULTUKE. 

LORD  JOHN  RUSSELL. 

BEFORE  many  years  are  passed,  there  will  be  in  Great  Britain  and 
the  United  States  of  America,  sixty,  seventy,  or  eighty  millions  of  free 
people.  May  we  not  hope  that  these  kindred  nations — each  speaking 
the  English  language — each  deriving  its  pedigree  of  liberty  from  a 
common  ancestry — each  inheriting  the  English  Bible — each  reading 
Shakspeare  and  Milton — each  divided  into  many  denominations  of 
Christians,  but  each  allowing  complete  liberty  of  worship — will  unite 
in  the  glorious  task  of  peaceful  conquest  and  bloodless  victory  ?  At 
least  let  us  indulge  in  this  high  hope.  If  we  do  not  arrive  at,  or  even 
approximate  to,  perfection,  we  may  look  at  least  to  uninterrupted  pro- 
gress towards  a  far  better  social  organization  than  any  we  have  yet 
enjoyed.  I  have  spoken  to  you  of  those  times  of  civilization  when 
either  the  Christian  religion  was  unknown  ;  or  being  known,  it  was 
contemned,  cast  aside,  and  neglected.  Let  us  hope  that  there  is  a 
period  arriving  when  we  may  see  realized  those  beautiful  and  powerful 
words  of  a  great  poet : — 

"  Dim  as  the  borrowed  beams  of  moon  and  stars 
To  lonely,  weary,  wandering  travellers, 
Is  reason  to  the  soul ;  and  as  on  high, 
Those  rolling  fires  discover  but  the  sky, 
Not  light  us  here,  so  reason's  glimmering  ray 
Was  lent,  not  to  assure  our  doubtful  way, 
But  guide  us  upward  to  a  better  day. 
And  as  those  nightly  tapers  disappear 
When  day's  bright  lord  ascends  our  hemisphere, 
So  pale  grows  reason  at  religion's  sight, 
So  dies  and  so  dissolves  in  supernatural  light." 

To  each  one  of  us — to  you,  young  men  of  the  united  kingdom  more 
especially — belongs  a  portion  of  the  noble  task  of  speeding  our  country 
on  her  great  and  glorious  way,  by  walking  steadfastly  in  the  full  light 
of  such  truths  as  we  already  possess,  and  by  hastening  the  noonday 
brightness  of  such  as  are  only  dawning.  Let  it  not  be  the  reproach 
of  any  one  of  us,  that,  born  in  a  land  where  the  laws  acknowledge 
that  thought  and  speech  are  free,  we  have  yet  ever  lent  the  helping 
hand  of  custom,  folly,  or  intolerance  to  extinguish  one  spark  of  that 
Divine  flame  which  we  call  the  soul,  or  ever  turned  away  from  a  right- 
eous and  peaceable  endeavor  to  loosen  the  fetters  that  still  bind  it 
throughout  the  world. 

From  "  Lecture  before  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  of  London," 


100  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   EGOTISTICAL   TALKEK. 

J.  B.  OWEN. 

THE  egotist  is  an  Alexander  Selkirk  without  the  solitude.  The  ety- 
mology of  an* egotist  may  be  rendered  thus  :  "  One  of  those  gluttonous 
parts  of  speech  that  gulp  down  every  substantive  in  the  social  gram- 
mar into  its  personal  pronoun,  condensing  all  the  tenses,  moods,  and 
voices  of  other  people's  verbs,  into  a  first  person  singular  of  its  own. 
Example :  '  I  myself  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes,  and  nobody  else  but 
me,  I  say/  " 

He  whose  staple  conversation  is  his  own  panegyric,  forgets  that 
everybody  isn't  as  interested  as  himself  in  his  alleged  achievements. 
Society  resents  as  a  trespass  upon  its  common  rights,  the  inflated  eulo- 
gy which  seems  to  think  no  topic  so  attractive  as  itself ;  and  retaliates 
by  a  reprisal  couched  in  the  familiar  formula :  "  We  would  buy  him  at 
our  price,  and  sell  him  at  his  own/' 

He  has  made  a  gross  blunder  somewhere  (perhaps  is  always  at  it) 
who  provokes  such  a  "  quotation."  This  vanity  of  "  mihi  quidem  vide- 
tur"  is  sometimes,  as  with  Cicero,  associated  with  a  genius  too  con- 
scious of  its  own  gifts  to  be  sufficiently  sensible  of  others.  His  inven- 
tions won't  always  bear  testing.  His  great  acquaintances,  whose  cards 
cover  his  table,  thick  as  medals  on  the  breast  of  Wellington,  commem- 
orative of  so  many  social  conquests,  are  not  all  genuine  deposits  of 
their  owners.  Eggs  are  not  always  laid  in  the  nest  where  they  are 
hatched. 

"  I  was  to  dine  with  the  Admiral,"  said  such  a  one,  to  a  brother  offi- 
cer, as  they  met  in  the  street ;  "  but  I've  so  many  cards  for  to-night,  I 
can't  go." 

" I  received  the  same  invitation,"  said  his  friend;  "and  I'll  apolo- 
gize for  you." 

"Don't  trouble  yourself;  pray  don't " 

"  I  must,  if  you  don't  come  ;  for  the  admiral's  invitation,  you  know, 
is  like  royalty's — a  command." 

"  Don't  mention  my  name." 

"I  certainly  must,"  said  his  friend,  as  thsy  shook  hands  to  separate. 

"  I  say,"  at  length  stammered  out  the  hero  of  a  hundred  cards, 
"  don't  say  a  word  about  me ;  I — I  had  a  hint  to  stay  away." 

"A  hint;  how  so?" 

"  1  wasn't  invited." 

"  No !"  said  his  friend,  "  not  invited  1  Well,  I  said  I  had  received 
the  same  invitation,  for  neither  was  I;  but  I  wanted  to  see  how  it  lay 
between  us." 

From  " Lecture  before  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association'* 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  101 

THE   SENSE   OF   BEAUTY. 

TV.  3.  CHAINING./ 

BEAUTY  is  an  all-pervading  presence.  It  unfolds  in  the  numberless 
flowers  of  the  spring.  It  waves  in  the  branches  ox  the  tie3s  und  t.ie 
green  blades  of  grass.  It  haunts  the  depths  of  the  earth  and  sea,  and 
gleams  out  in  the  hues  of  the  shell  arid  the  precious  stone.  And  not 
only  these  minute  objects,  but  the  ocean,  the  mountains,  the  clouds,  the 
heavens,  the  stars,  the  rising  and  setting  sun,  all  overflow  with  beauty. 
The  universe  is  its  temple  ;  and  those  men  who  are  alive  to  it,  cannot 
lift  their  eyes  without  feeling  themselves  encompassed  with  it  on  every 
side.  Now  this  beauty  is  so  precious,  the  enjoyments  it  gives  are  so 
refined  and  pure,  so  congenial  with  our  tenderest  and  noble  feelings, 
and  so  akin  to  worship,  that  it  is  painful  to  think  of  the  multitude  of 
men  as  living  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  living  almost  as  blind  to  it  as  if, 
instead  of  this  fair  earth  and  glorious  sky,  they  were  tenants  of  a  dun- 
geon. An  infinite  joy  is  lost  to  the  world  by  the  want  of  culture  of 
this  spiritual  endowment.  Suppose  that  I  were  to  visit  a  cottage,  and 
to  see  its  walls  lined  with  the  choicest  pictures  of  Raphael,  and  every 
spare  nook  filled  with  statues  of  the  most  exquisite  workmanship,  and 
that  I  were  to  learn  that  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child  ever  cast  an 
eye  at  these  miracles  of  art,  how  should  I  feel  their  privation ;  how 
should  I  want  to  open  their  eyes,  and  to  help  them  to  comprehend  and 
feel  the  loveliness  and  grandeur  which  in  vain  courted  their  notice ! 
But  every  husbandman  is  living  in  sight  of  the  works  of  a  diviner 
Artist ;  and  how  much  would  his  existence  be  elevated,  could  he  see 
the  glory  which  shines  forth  in  their  forms,  hues,  proportions,  and 
moral  expression !  I  have  spoken  only  of  the  beauty  of  nature,  but 
how  much  of  this  mysterious  charm  is  found  in  the  elegant  arts,  and 
especially  in  literature?  The  best  books  have  most  beauty.  The 
greatest  truths  are  wronged  if  not  linked  with  beauty,  and  they  win 
their  way  most  surely  and  deeply  into  the  soul  when  arrayed  in  this 
their  natural  and  fit  attire.  Now  no  man  receives  the  true  culture  of 
a  man,  in  whom  the  sensibility  to  the  beautiful  is  not  cherished ;  and  I 
know  of  no  condition  in  life  from  which  it  should  be  excluded.  Of  all 
luxuries  this  is  the  cheapest  and  most  at  hand  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  to 
be  most  important  to  those  conditions,  where  coarse  labor  tends  to  give 
a  grossness  to  the  mind.  From  the  diffusion  of  the  sense  of  beauty  in 
ancient  Greece,  and  of  the  taste  for  music  in  modern  Germany,  we  learn 
that  the  people  at  large  may  partake  of  refined  gratifications,  .which 
have  hitherto  been  thought  to  be  necessarily  restricted  to  a  few. 

From  " Self-culture" 

9* 


102          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

BOOKS. 

\i  J  „  *•'  '.   '  »J  W.  E.  CHANNINO. 

It  is  chiefly  through '  books  that  we  enjoy  intercourse  with  superior 
rr,iiiylsit '  aud '.tnes_e  iiivalusjble  means  of  communication  are  in  the  reach 
01*  all.  In  the  best  books  great  men  talk  to  us,  give  us  their  most  pre- 
cious thoughts,  and  pour  their  souls  into  ours.  God  be  thanked  for 
books.  They  are  the  voices  of  the  distant  and  the  dead,  and  make  us 
heirs  of  the  spiritual  life  of  past  ages.  Books  are  the  true  levellers. 
They  give  to  all,  who  will  faithfully  use  them,  the  society,  the  spiritual 
presence  of  the  best  and  greatest  of  our  race.  No  matter  how  poor  I 
am.  No  matter  though  the  prosperous  of  my  own  time  will  not  enter 
my  obscure  dwelling.  If  the  Sacred  Writers  will  enter  and  take  up 
their  abode  under  my  roof,  if  Milton  will  cross  my  threshold  to  sing  to 
me  of  Paradise,  and  Shakspeare  to  open  to  me  the  worlds  of  imagina- 
tion and  the  workings  of  the  human  heart,  and  Franklin  to  enrich  me 
with  his  practical  wisdom,  I  shall  not  pine  for  want  of  intellectual 
companionship,  and  I  may  become  a  cultivated  man  though  excluded 
from  what  is  called  the  best  society  in  the  place  where  I  live. 

From  «  Sdf-cutturt." 


JUDICIAL,  FORENSIC,  AND  PARLIAMENTARY. 


IMPRESSMENT   OF  AMERICAN  SAILORS. 

HENRY  CLAT. 

IF  Great  Britain  desires  a  mark,  by  which  she  can  know  her  own 
subjects,  let  her  give  them  an  ear-mark.  The  colors  that  float  from 
the  mast-head  should  be  the  credentials  of  our  seamen.  There  is  no 
safety  to  us,  and  the  gentlemen  have  shown  it,  but  in  the  rule  that  all 
who  sail  under  the  flag  (not  being  enemies),  are  protected  by  the  flag. 
It  is  impossible  that  this  country  should  ever  abandon  the  gallant  tars, 
who  have  won  for  us  such  splendid  trophies.  Let  me  suppose  that  the 
Genius  of  Columbia  should  visit  one  of  them  in  his  oppressor's  prison,  and 
attempt  to  reconcile  him  to  his  forlorn  and  wretched  condition.  She 
would  say  to  him,  in  the  language  of  gentlemen  on  the  other  side: 
"  Great  Britain  intends  you  no  harm ;  she  did  not  mean  to  impress 
you,  but  one  of  her  own  subjects ;  having  taken  you  by  mistake,  I  will 
remonstrate,  and  try  to  prevail  upon  her,  by  peaceable  means,  to  release 
you,  but  I  cannot,  my  son,  fight  for  you."  If  he  did  not  consider  this 
mere  mockery,  the  poor  tar  would  address  her  judgment  and  say,  "  You 
owe  me,  my  country,  protection ;  I  owe  you,  in  return,  obedience.  I 
am  no  British  subject,  I  am  a  native  of  old  Massachusetts,  where  live 
my  aged  father,  my  wife,  my  children.  I  have  faithfully  discharged  my 
duty.  Will  you  refuse  to  do  yours  ?"  Appealing  to  her  passions,  he 
would  continue :  "  I  lost  this  eye  in  fighting  under  Truxtun,  with  the 
Insurgente ;  I  got  this  scar  before  Tripoli ;  I  broke  this  leg  on  board 
the  Constitution,  when  the  Guerriere  struck."  If  she  remained  still 
unmoved,  he  would  break  out,  in  the  accents  of  mingled  distress  and 
despair : — 

Hard,  hard  is  my  fate !  once  I  freedom  enjoyed, 

Was  as  happy  as  happy  could  be  ! 

Oh  !  how  hard  is  my  fate,  how  galling  these  chains  ! 

I  will  not  imagine  the  dreadful  catastrophe  to  which  he  would  be  driven 
by  an  abandonment  of  him  to  his  oppressor.  It  will  not  be,  it  cannot 
be,  that  his  country  will  refuse  him  protection. 

From  "  Speech  on  New  Army  Bill." 

(103) 


104  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

ABUSE   OF   NAPOLEON". 

HENRY  CLAY. 

THROUGHOUT  the  period  I  have  been  speaking  of,  the  opposition  has 
been  distinguished,  amidst  all  its  veerings  and  changes,  by  another  in- 
flexible feature,  the  application  to  Bonaparte  of  every  vile  and  oppro- 
brious epithet,  our  language,  copious  as  it  is  in  terms  of  vituperation, 
affords.  He  has  been  compared  to  every  hideous  monster  and  beast, 
from  that  mentioned  in  the  Revelations,  down  to  the  most  insignificant 
quadruped.  He  has  been  called  the  scourge  of  mankind,  the  destroyer 
of  Europe,  and  the  great  robber,  the  infidel,  the  modern  Attila,  and 
heaven  knows  by  what  other  names.  Really,  gentlemen  remind  me  of 
an  obscure  lady,  in  a  city  not  very  far  off,  who  also  took  it  into  her 
head,  in  conversation  with  an  accomplished  French  gentleman,  to  talk 
of  the  affairs  of  Europe.  She  too  spoke  of  the  destruction  of  the 
balance  of  power,  stormed  and  raged  about  the  insatiable  ambition  of 
the  emperor ;  called  him  the  curse  of  mankind,  the  destroyer  of  Europe. 
The  Frenchman  listened  to  her  with  perfect  patience,  and  when  she 
had  ceased,  said  to  her,  with  ineffable  politeness :  "  Madam,  it  would 
give  my  master,  the  emperor,  infinite  pain,  if  he  knew  how  hardly  you 
thought  of  him."  Sir,  gentlemen  appear  to  me  to  forget  that  they 
stand  on  American  soil;  that  they  are  not  in  the  British  House  of 
Commons,  but  in  the  chamber  of  the  House  of  Representatives  of  the 
United  States ;  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  affairs  of  Europe, 
the  partition  of  territory  and  sovereignty  there,  except  so  far  as  these 
things  affect  the  interests  of  our  own  country.  Gentlemen  transform 
themselves  into  the  Burkes,  Chathams,  and  Pitts  of  another  country, 
and  forgetting  from  honest  zeal  the  interests  of  America,  engage  with 
European  sensibility  in  the  discussion  of  European  interests.  If  gen- 
tlemen ask  me,  whether  I  do  not  view  with  regret  and  horror  the  con. 
centration  of  such  vast  power  in  the  hands  of  Bonaparte — I  reply  that 
I  do.  I  regret  to  see  the  emperor  of  China  holding  such  immense  sway 
over  the  fortunes  of  millions  of  our  species.  I  regret  to  see  Great 
Britain  possessing  so  uncontrolled  a  command  over  all  the  waters  of 
our  globe.  If  I  had  the  ability  to  distribute  among  the  nations  of 
Europe  their  several  portions  of  power  and  of  sovereignty,  I  would  say 
that  Holland  should  be  resuscitated,  and  given  the  weight  she  enjoyed 
in  the  days  of  her  De  Witts.  I  would  confine  France  within  her  natu- 
ral boundaries,  the  Alps,  Pyrenees,  and  the  Rhine,  and  make  her  a 
secondary  naval  power  only.  I  would  abridge  the  British  maritime 
power,  raise  Prussia  and  Austria  to  their  original  condition,  andfc  pre- 
serve the  integrity  of  the  Empire  of  Russia.  But  these  are  specula- 
tions. I  look  at  the  political  transactions  of  Europe,  with  the  single 
exception  of  their  possible  bearing  upon  us,  as  I  do  at  the  history  of 
other  countries,  or  other  times.  I  do  not  survey  them  with  half  the 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  105 

interest  that  I  do  the  movements  in  South  America.  Our  political  re- 
lation with  them  is  much  less  important  than  it  is  supposed  to  be.  I 
have  no  fears  of  French  or  English  subjugation.  If  we  are  united,  we 
are  too  powerful  for  the  mightiest  nation  in  Europe,  or  all  Europe  com- 
bined. If  we  are  separated  and  torn  asunder,  we  shall  become  an  easy 
prey  to  the  weakest  of  them.  In  the  latter  dreadful  contingency,  our 
country  will  not  be  worth  preserving. 

From  "  Speech  on  New  Army  Bill." 


KEPLY  TO   JOHN  KANDOLPH. 

HENRY  CLAY. 

SIR,  I  am  growing  old.  I  have  had  some  little  measure  of  experi 
ence  in  public  life,  and  the  result  of  that  experience  has  brought  me  to 
this  conclusion,  that  when  business,  of  whatever  nature,  is  to  be  trans- 
acted in  a  deliberative  assembly,  or  in  private  life,  courtesy,  forbearance, 
and  moderation,  are  best  calculated  to  bring  it  to  a  successful  conclu- 
sion. Sir,  my  age  admonishes  me  to  abstain  from  involving  myself 
in  personal  difficulties  ;  would  to  God  that  I  could  say,  I  am  also 
restrained  by  higher  motives.  I  certainly  never  sought  any  collision 
with  the  gentleman  from  Virginia.  My  situation  at  this  time  is  pecu- 
liar, if  it  be  nothing  else,  and  might,  I  should  think,  dissuade,  at  least, 
a  generous  heart  from  any  wish  to  draw  me  into  circumstances  of  per- 
sonal altercation.  I  have  experienced  this  magnanimity  from  some 
quarters  of  the  House.  But  I  regret,  that  from  others  it  appears  to 
have  no  such  consideration.  The  gentleman  from  Virginia  was  pleased 
to  say,  that  in  one  point  at  least  he  coincided  with  me — in  an  humble 
estimate  of  my  grammatical  and  philological  acquirements.  I  know 
my  deficiencies.  I  was  born  to  no  proud  patrimonial  estate  ;  from  my 
father  I  inherited  only  infancy,  ignorance,  and  indigence.  I  feel  my 
defects ;  but,  so  far  as  my  situation  in  early  life  is  concerned,  I  may, 
without  presumption,  say  they  are  more  my  misfortune  than  my  fault. 
But,  however  I  regret  my  want  of  ability  to  furnish  to  the  gentleman 
a  better  specimen  of  powers  of  verbal  criticism,  I  will  venture  to  say, 
it  is  not  greater  than  the  disappointment  of  this  committee  as  to  the 

strength  of  his  argument. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  House  of  Representatives,"  1824. 


THE   BUILDING   OF   NATIONAL   KOADS. 

HENRY  CLAY. 

OF  all  the  powers  bestowed  on  this  government,  I  think  none  are 
more  clearly  vested  than  that  to  regulate  the  distribution  of  the  intel- 
ligence, private  and  official,  of  the  country  ;  to  regulate  the  distribution 


106          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

of  its  commerce  ;  and  to  regulate  the  distribution  of  the  physical  force 
of  the  Union.  In  the  execution  of  the  high  and  solemn  trust  which 
these  beneficial  powers  imply,  we  must  look  to  the  great  ends  which 
the  framers  of  our  admirable  constitution  had  in  view.  We  must  reject, 
as  wholly  incompatible  with  their  enlightened  and  beneficent  intentions, 
that  construction  of  these  powers  which  would  resuscitate  all  the  debi- 
lity and  inefficiency  of  the  ancient  confederacy.  In  the  vicissitudes  of 
human  affairs,  who  can  foresee  all  the  possible  cases  in  which  it  may  be 
necessary  to  apply  the  public  force,  within  or  without  the  Union  ?  This 
government  is  charged  with  the  use  of  it  to  repel  invasions,  to  suppress 
insurrections,  to  enforce  the  laws  of.  the  Union ;  in  short,  for  all  the 
unknown  and  undefinable  purposes  of  war,  foreign  or  intestine,  wher- 
ever and  however  it  may  rage.  During  its  existence  may  not  govern- 
ment, for  its  effectual  prosecution,  order  a  road  to  be  made,  or  a  canal 
to  be  cut,  to  relieve,  for  example,  an  exposed  point  of  the  Union  ?  If, 
when  the  emergency  comes,  there  is  a  power  to  provide  for  it,  that 
power  must  exist  in  the  constitution,  and  not  in  the  emergency.  A 
wise,  precautionary,  and  parental  policy,  anticipating  danger,  will 
beforehand  provide  for  the  hour  of  need.  Koads  and  canals  are  in  the 
nature  of  fortifications,  since,  if  not  the  deposits  of  military  resources, 
they  enable  you  to  bring  into  rapid  action  the  military  resources  of  the 
country,  whatever  they  may  be.  They  are  better  than  any  fortifications, 
because  they  serve  the  double  purposes  of  peace  and  war.  They  dis- 
pense, in  a  great  degree,  with  fortifications,  since  they  have  all  the 
effect  of  that  concentration  at  which  fortifications  aim.  I  appeal  from 
the  precepts  of  the  President  to  the  practice  of  the  President.  While 
he  denies  to  Congress  the  power  in  question,  he  does  not  scruple,  upon 
his  sole  authority,  as  numerous  instances  in  the  statute  book  will 
testify,  to  order,  at  pleasure,  the  opening  of  roads  by  the  military,  and 
then  come  here  to  ask  us  to  pay  for  them.  Nay,  more,  sir ;  a  sub- 
ordinate, but  highly  respectable  officer  of  the  executive  government,  I 
believe,  would  not  hesitate  to  provide  a  boat  or  cause  a  bridge  to  be 
erected  over  an  inconsiderable  stream,  to  insure  the  regular  transporta- 
tion of  the  mail.  And  it  happens  to  be  within  my  personal  knowledge 
that  the  head  of  the  post-office  department,  as  a  prompt  and  vigilant 
officer  should  do,  has  recently  despatched  an  agent  to  ascertain  the 
causes  of  the  late  frequent  vexatious  failures  of  the  great  northern 
mail,  and  to  inquire  if  a  provision  of  a  boat  or  bridge  over  certain  small 
streams  in  Maryland,  which  have  produced  them,  would  not  prevent 
their  recurrence. 

From  " Speech  in  the  House  of  Representatives"  1824. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  107 

ADDRESS   TO   LAFAYETTE. 

HENRY  CLAY. 

DURING  all  the  recent  convulsions  of  Europe,  amid,  as  after  the  dis- 
persion of,  every  political  storm,  the  people  of  the  United  States  have 
beheld  you,  true  to  your  old  principles,  firm  and  erect,  cheering  and 
animating  with  your  well-known  voice,  the  votaries  of  liberty,  its  faith- 
ful and  fearless  champion,  ready  to  shed  the  last  drop  of  that  blood 
which  here  you  so  freely  and  nobly  spilled,  in  the  same  holy  cause. 

The  vain  wish  has  been  sometimes  indulged,  that  Providence  would 
allow  the  patriot,  after  death,  to  return  to  his  country,  and  to  contem- 
plate the  intermediate  changes  which  had  taken  place ;  to  view  the 
forests  felled,  the  cities  built,  the  mountains  levelled,  the  canals  cut, 
the  highways  constructed,  the  progress  of  the  arts,  the  advancement 
of  learning,  and  the  increase  of  population.  General,  your  present 
visit  to  the  United  States  is  a  realization  of  the  consoling  object  of  that 
wish.  You  are  in  the  midst  of  posterity.  Everywhere,  you  must 
have  been  struck  with  the  great  changes,  physical  and  moral,  which 
have  occurred  since  you  left  us.  Even  this  very  city,  bearing  a  vene- 
rated name,  alike  endeared  to  you  and  to  us,  has  since  emerged  from 
the  forest  which  then  covered  its  site.  In  one  respect  you  behold  us 
unaltered,  and  this  is  in  the  sentiment  of  continued  devotion  to  liberty, 
and  of  ardent  affection  and  profound  gratitude  to  your  departed  friend, 
the  Father  of  his  country,  and  to  you,  and  to  your  illustrious  associates 
in  the  field  and  in  the  cabinet,  for  the  multiplied  blessings  which  sur- 
round us,  and  for  the  very  privilege  of  addressing  you  which  I  now 
exercise.  This  sentiment,  now  fondly  cherished  by  more  than  ten  mil- 
lions of  people,  will  be  transmitted,  with  unabated  vigor,  down  the  tide 
of  time,  through  the  countless  millions  who  are  destined  to  inhabit  this 
continent,  to  the  latest  posterity. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  House  of  Representatives"  1824. 


THE  JURYMAN'S  DUTY. 

DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

GENTLEMEN, — Your  whole  concern  should  be  to  do  your  duty,  and 
leave  consequences  to  take  care  of  themselves.  You  will  receive  the 
law  from  the  court.  Your  verdict,  it  is  true,  may  endanger  the  pri- 
soner's life ;  but  then,  it  is  to  save  other  lives.  If  the  prisoner's  guilt 
has  been  shown  and  proved,  beyond  all  reasonable  doubt,  you  will 
convict  him.  If  such  reasonable  doubts  of  guilt  still  remain,  you  will 
acquit  him.  You  are  the  judges  of  the  whole  case.  You  owe  a  duty 
to  the  public,  as  well  as  to  the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  You  cannot  pre- 
sume to  be  wiser  than  the  law.  Your  duty  is  a  plain,  straightforward 


108  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKEE. 

one.  Doubtless,  we  would  all  judge  him  in  mercy.  Towards  him,  as 
an  individual,  the  law  inculcates  no  hostility ;  but  towards  him,  if 
proved  to  be  a  murderer,  the  law,  and  the  oaths  you  have  taken,  and 
public  justice,  demand  that  you  do  your  duty. 

With  consciences  satisfied  with  the  discharge  of  duty,  no  conse- 
quences can  harm  you.  There  is  no  evil  that  we  cannot  either  face  or 
fly  from,  but  the  consciousness  of  duty  disregarded. 

A  sense  of  duty  pursues  us  ever.  It  is  omnipresent,  like  the  Deity. 
If  we  take  to  ourselves  the  wings  of  the  morning  and  dwell  in  the 
utmost  parts  of  the  seas,  duty  performed,  or  duty  violated,  is  still  with 
us,  for  our  happiness,  or  our  misery.  If  we  say  the  darkness  shall 
cover  us,  in  the  darkness  as  in  the  light  our  obligations  are  yet  with 
us.  We  cannot  escape  their  power,  nor  fly  from  their  presence.  They 
are  with  as  in  this  life,  will  be  with  us  at  its  close ;  and  in  that  scene 
of  inconceivable  solemnity,  which  lies  yet  farther  onward — we  shall 
still  find  ourselves  surrounded  by  the  consciousness  of  duty,  to  pain  us 
wherever  it  has  been  violated,  and  to  console  us  so  far  as  God  may  have 
given  us  grace  to  perform  it. 

From  " Argument  in  Knapp's  Trial"  1830. 


THE  MURDERER'S  SELF-BETRAYAL. 

DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

AH  !  gentlemen,  that  was  a  dreadful  mistake.  Such  a  secret  can  be 
safe  nowhere.  The  whole  creation  of  God  has  neither  nook  nor  corner 
where  the  guilty  can  bestow  it,  and  say  it  is  safe.  Not  to  speak  of  that 
eye  which  glances  through  all  disguises,  and  beholds  everything  as  in 
the  splendor  of  noon — such  secrets  of  guilt  are  never  safe  from  detec- 
tion, even  by  men.  True  it  is,  generally  speaking,  that  "  murder  will 
out."  True  it  .is,  that  Providence  hath  so  ordained,  and  doth  so  govern 
things,  that  those  who  break  the  great  law  of  heaven,  by  shedding 
man's  blood,  seldom  succeed  in  avoiding  discovery.  Especially,  in  a 
case  exciting  so  much  attention  as  this,  discovery  must  come,  and  will 
come,  sooner  or  later.  A  thousand  eyes  turn  at  once  to  explore  every 
man,  every  thing,  every  circumstance,  connected  with  the  time  and 
place ;  a  thousand  ears  catch  every  whisper  ;  a  thousand  excited  minds 
intensely  dwell  on  the  scene,  shedding  all  their  light,  and  ready  to 
kindle  the  slightest  circumstance  into  a  blaze  of  discovery.  Meantime, 
the  guilty  soul  cannot  keep  its  own  secret.  It  is  false  to  itself;  or 
rather  it  feels  an  irresistible  impulse  of  conscience  to  be  true  to  itself. 
It  labors  under  its  guilty  possession,  and  knows  not  what  to  do  with  it. 
The  human  heart  was  not  made  for  the  residence  of  such  an  inhabitant. 
It  finds  itself  preyed  on  by  a  torment,  which  it  dares  not  acknowledge 
to  God  nor  man.  A  vulture  is  devouring  it,  and  it  can  ask  no  sympathy 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  109 

or  assistance,  either  from  heaven  or  earth.  The  secret  which  the  mur- 
derer possesses  soon  comes  to  possess  him ;  and,  like  the  evil  spirits  of 
which  we  read,  it  overcomes  him,  and  leads  him  whithersoever  it  will. 
He  feels  it  beating  at  his  heart,  rising  to  his  throat,  and  demanding 
disclosure.  He  thinks  the  whole  world  sees  it  in  his  face,  reads  it  in 
his  eyes,  and  almost  hears  its  workings  in  the  very  silence  of  his 
thoughts.  It  has  become  his  master.  It  betrays  his  discretion,  it 
breaks  down  his  courage,  it  conquers  his  prudence.  When  suspicions, 
from  without,  begin  to  embarrass  him,  and  the  net  of  circumstance  to 
entangle  him,  the  fatal  secret  struggles  with  still  greater  violence  to 
burst  forth.  It  must  be  confessed,  it  will  be  confessed,  there  is  no 
refuge  from  confession  but  suicide,  and  suicide  is  confession. 

From  "  Argument  in  Knapp's  Trial"  1830. 


THE  MURDERER'S  PLAN. 

DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

LET  me  ask  your  attention,  then,  in  the  first  place,  to  those  appear- 
ances on  the  morning  after  the  murder,  which  have  a  tendency  to  show, 
that  it  was  done  in  pursuance  of  a  preconcerted  plan  of  operation. 
What  are  they  ?  A  man  was  found  murdered  in  his  bed.  No  stranger 
had  done  the  deed — no  one  unacquainted  with  the  house  had  done  it. 
It  was  app'arent,  that  somebody  from  within  had  opened,  and  somebody 
from  without  had  entered.  There  had  been  there,  obviously  and  cer- 
tainly, concert  and  co-operation.  The  inmates  of  the  house  were  not 
alarmed  when  the  murder  was  perpetrated.  The  assassin  had  entered, 
without  any  riot,  or  any  violence.  He  had  found  the  way  prepared 
before  him.  The  house  had  been  previously  opened.  The  window  was 
unbarred,  from  within,  and  its  fastening  unscrewed.  There  was  a  lock 
on  the  door  of  the  chamber,  in  which  Mr.  White  slept,  but  the  key  was 
gone.  It  had  been  taken  away,  and  secreted.  The  footsteps  of  the 
murderer  were  visible,  out-doors,  tending  toward  the  window.  The 
plank  by  which  he  entered  the  window,  still  remained.  The  road  he 
pursued  had  been  thus  prepared  for  him.  The  victim  was  slain,  and 
the  murderer  had  escaped.  Everything  indicated  that  somebody  from 
within  had  co-operated  with  somebody  from  without.  Everything  pro- 
claimed that  some  of  the  inmates,  or  somebody  having  access  to  the 
house,  had  had  a  hand  in  the  murder.  On  the  face  of  the  circumstances, 
it  was  apparent,  therefore,  that  this  was  a  premeditated,  concerted, 
conspired  murder.  Who,  then,  were  the  conspirators?  If  not- now 
found  out,  we  are  still  groping  in  the  dark,  and  the  whole  tragedy  is 
still  a  mystery. 

From  "Argument  in  Knapp's  Trial,"  1830. 

10 


110  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   BUNKER   HILL    MONUMENT. 

DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

WE  know,  indeed,  that  the  record  of  illustrious  actions  is  most  safely 
deposited  in  the  universal  remembrance  of  mankind.  We  know  that 
if  we  could  cause  this  structure  to  ascend,  not  only  till  it  reached  the 
skies,  but  till  it  pierced  them,  its  broad  surfaces  could  still  contain  but 
part  of  that,  which,  in  an  age  of  knowledge,  hath  already  been  spread 
over  the  earth,  and  which  history  charges  itself  with  making  known  to 
all  future  times.  We  know  that  no  inscription  on  entablatures  less 
broad  than  the  earth  itself,  can  carry  information  of  the  events  we 
commemorate,  where  it  has  not  already  gone ;  and  that  no  structure, 
which  shall  not  outlive  the  duration  of  letters  and  knowledge  among 
men,  can  prolong  the  memorial.  But  our  object  is,  by  this  edifice  to 
show  our  own  deep  sense  of  the  value  and  importance  of  the  achieve- 
ments of  our  ancestors ;  and,  by  presenting  this  work  of  gratitude  to 
the  eye,  to  keep  alive  similar  sentiments,  and  to  foster  a  constant 
regard  for  the  principles  of  the  Revolution.  Human  beings  are  com- 
posed not  of  reason  only,  but  of  imagination  also,  and  sentiment ;  and 
that  is  neither  wasted  nor  misapplied  which  is  appropriated  to  the 
purpose  of  giving  right  direction  to  sentiments,  and  opening  proper 
springs  of  feeling  in  the  heart.  Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  our  object 
is  to  perpetuate  national  hostility,  or  even  to  cherish  a  mere  military 
spirit.  It  is  higher,  purer,  nobler.  We  consecrate  our  work  to  the 
spirit  of  national  independence,  and  we  wish  that  the  light  of  peace 
may  rest  upon  it  for  ever.  We  rear  a  memorial  of  our  conviction  of 
that  unmeasured  benefit,  which  has  been  conferred  on  our  own  land, 
and  of  the  happy  influences  which  have  been  produced,  by  the  same 
events,  on  the  general  interests  of  mankind.  We  come,  as  Americans, 
to  mark  a  spot  which  must  for  ever  be  dear  to  us  and  our  posterity. 
We  wish,  that  whosoever,  in  all  coming  time,  shall  turn  his  eye  hither, 
may  behold  that  the  place  is  not  undistinguished  where  the  first  great 
battle  of  the  Revolution  was  fought.  We  wish  that  this  structure 
may  proclaim  the  magnitude  and  importance  of  that  event,  to  every 
class  and  every  age.  We  wish  that  infancy  may  learn  the  purpose  of 
its  erection  from  maternal  lips,  and  that  weary  and  withered  age  may 
behold  it,  and  be  solaced  by  the  recollections  which  it  suggests.  We 
wish  that  labor  may  look  up  here,  and  be  proud,  in  the  midst  of  its 
toil.  We  wish  that,  in  those  days  of  disaster,  which,  as  they  come  on 
all  nations,  must  be  expected  to  come  on  us  also,  desponding  patriotism 
may  turn  its  eyes  hitherward,  and  be  assured  that  the  foundations  of 
our  national  power  still  stand  strong.  We  wish  that  this  column, 
rising  towards  heaven  among  the  pointed  spires  of  so  many  temples 
dedicated  to  God,  may. contribute  also  to  produce,  in  all  minds,  a  pious 
feeling  of  dependence  and  gratitude.  We  wish,  finally,  that  the  last 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  Ill 

object  on  the  sight  of  him  \vho  leaves  his  native  shore,  and  the  first  to 
gladden  his  who  revisits  it,  may  be  something  which  shall  remind  him 
of  the  liberty  and  the  glory  of  his  country.  Let  it  rise,  till  it  meet  the 
sun  in  his  coming ;  let  the  earliest  light  of  the  morning  gild  it,  and 
carting  day  linger  and  play  on  its  summit. 

From  "Address  at  Laying  of  Corner-stone  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument,"  1825. 


ENGLAND   AND  AMERICA. 

JOHN  C.  CALHOUN. 

THE  gentleman  from  Virginia  is  at  a  loss  to  account  for  what  he  calls 
our  hatred  to  England.  He  asks  how  can  we  hate  the  country  of 
Locke,  of  Newton,  Hampden,  and  Chatham;  a  country  having  the 
same  language  and  customs  with  ourselves,  and  descending  from  a 
common  ancestry.  Sir,  the  laws  of  human  affections  are  steady  and 
uniform.  If  we  have  so  much  to  attach  us  to  that  country,  potent 
indeed  must  be  the  cause  which  has  overpowered  it.  Yes,  there  is  a 
cause  strong  enough ;  not  in  that  occult  courtly  affection  which  he  has 
supposed  to  be  entertained  for  France  ;  but  it  is  to  be  found  in  continued 
and  unprovoked  insult  and  injury — a  cause  so  manifest,  that  the  gentle- 
man from  Virginia  had  to  exert  much  ingenuity  to  overlook  it.  But 
the  gentleman,  in  his  eager  admiration  of  that  country,  has  not  been 
sufficiently  guarded  in  his  argument.  Has  he  reflected  on  the  cause  of 
that  admiration  ?  Has  he  examined  the  reasons  of  our  high  regard  for 
her  Chatham  ?  It  is  his  ardent  patriotism,  the  heroic  courage  of  his 
mind,  that  could  not  brook  the  least  insult  of  injury  offered  to  his 
country,  but  thought  that  her  interest  and  honor  ought  to  be  vindicated 
at  every  hazard  and  expense.  I  hope,  when  we  are  called  upon  to 
admire,  we  shall  also  be  asked  to  imitate.  I  hope  the  gentleman  does 
not  wish  a  monopoly  of  those  great  virtues  for  England. 

From  " Speech  in  the  House  of  Representatives"  1811. 


FEDERAL   GOVERNMENT. 

JOHN  C.  CALHOUN. 

IN  reviewing  the  ground  over  which  I  have  passed,  it  will  be  appa- 
rent that  the  question  in  controversy  involves  that  most  deeply  impor- 
tant of  all  political  questions,  whether  ours  is  a  federal  or  a  consoli- 
dated government ; — a  question,  on  the  decision  of  which  depend,  as  I 
solemnly  believe,  the  liberty  of  the  people,  their  happiness,  and  the 
place  which  we  are  destined  to  hold  in  the  moral  and  intellectual  scale 
of  nations.  Never  was  there  a  controversy  in  which  more  important 
consequences  were  involved ;  not  excepting  that  between  Persia  and 
Greece,  decided  by  the  battles  of  Marathon,  Platea,  and  Salamis — • 


112  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

which  gave  ascendancy  to  the  genius  of  Europe  over  that  of  Asia — and 
which,  in  its  consequences,  has  continued  to  affect  the  destiny  of  so 
large  a  portion  of  the  world  even  to  this  day.  There  are  often  close 
analogies  between  events  apparently  very  remote,  which  are  strikingly 
illustrated  in  this  case.  In  the  great  contest  between  Greece  and 
Persia,  between  European  and  Asiatic  polity  and  civilization,  the  very 
question  between  the  federal  and  consolidated  form  of  government  was 
involved.  The  Asiatic  governments,  from  the  remotest  time,  with  some 
exceptions  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Mediterranean,  have  been  based 
on  the  principle  of  consolidation,  which  considers  the  whole  community 
as  but  a  unit,  and  consolidates  its  powers  in  a  central  point.  The 
opposite  principle  has  prevailed  in  Europe — Greece,  throughout  all  her 
states,  was  based  on  a  federal  system.  All  were  united  in  one  common 
but  loose  bond,  and  the  governments  of  the  several  states  partook,  for 
the  most  part,  of  a  complex  organization,  which  distributed  political 
power  among  different  members  of  the  community.  The  same  princi- 
ples prevailed  in  ancient  Italy ;  and,  if  we  turn  to  the  Teutonic  race, 
our  great  ancestors — the  race  which  occupies  the  first  place  in  power, 
civilization,  and  science,  and  which  possesses  the  largest  and  the  fairest 
part  of  Europe — we  shall  find  that  their  governments  were  based  on 
federal  organization. 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Force  Sill,"  1833. 


THE   ROMAN    SYSTEM. 

JOHN  C.  CALHOUIT. 

IT  is  a  well-known  fact,  that,  from  the  expulsion  of  the  Tarquins  to 
the  time  of  the  establishment  of  the  tribunitian  power,  the  government 
fell  into  a  state  of  the  greatest  disorder  and  distraction,  and,  I  may 
add,  corruption.  How  did  this  happen?  The  explanation  will  throw 
important  light  on  the  subject  under  consideration.  The  community 
was  divided  in-to  two  parts — the  Patricians  and  the  Plebeians  ;  with  the 
power  of  the  state  principally  in  the  hands  of  the  former,  without  ade- 
quate checks  to  protect  the  rights  of  the  latter.  The  result  was  as 
might  be  expected.  The  patricians  converted  the  powers  of  the 
government  into  the  means  of  making  money,  to  enrich  themselves  and 
their  dependants.  They,  in  a  word,  had  their  American  system,  grow- 
ing out  of  the  peculiar  character  of  the  government  and  condition  of 
the  country.  This  requires  explanation.  At  that  period,  according  to 
the  laws  of  nations,  when  one  nation  conquered  another,  the  lands  of 
the  vanquished  belonged  to  the  victor ;  and,  according  to  the  Roman  law, 
the  lands  thus  acquired  were  divided  into  two  parts — one  allotted  to 
the  poorer  class  of  the  people,  and  the  other  assigned  to  the  use  of  the 
treasury — of  which  the  patricians  had  the  distribution  and  administra- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  113 

tion.  The  patricians  abused  their  power  by  withholding  from  the  ple- 
beians that  which  ought  to  have  been  allotted  to  them,  and  by  convert- 
ing to  their  own  use  that  which  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  treasury.  In 
a  word,  they  took  to  themselves  the  entire  spoils  of  vietory,  and  had 
thus  the  most  powerful  motive  to  keep  the  state  perpetually  involved 
in  war,  to  the  utter  impoverishment  and  oppression  of  the  plebeians. 
After  resisting  the  abuse  of  power  by  all  peaceable  means,  and  the 
oppression  becoming  intolerable,  the  plebeians,  at  last,  withdrew  from 
the  city — they,  in  a  word,  seceded ;  and  to  induce  them  to  reunite,  the 
patricians  conceded  to  them,  as  the  means  of  protecting  their  separate 
interests,  the  very  power  which  I  contend  is  necessary  to  protect  the 
rights  of  the  States,  but  which  is  now  represented  as  necessarily  lead- 
ing to  disunion. 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Force  Bill,"  1833. 


THE   KOMAJS-   SYSTEM — CMtinwd. 

JOHN  C.  CALHOCN. 

THE  patricians  granted  to  the  plebeians  the  right  of  choosing  three 
tribunes  from  among  themselves,  whose  persons  should  be  sacred,  and 
who  should  have  the  right  of  interposing  their  veto,  not  only  against 
the  passage  of  laws,  but  even  against  their  execution — a  power  which 
those  who  take  a  shallow  insight  into  human  nature  would  pronounce 
inconsistent  with  the  strength  and  unity  of  the  state,  if  not  utterly 
impracticable  ;  yet  so  far  from  this  being  the  effect,  from  that  day  the 
genius  of  Rome  became  ascendant,  and  victory  followed  her  steps  till 
she  had  established  an  almost  universal  dominion.  How  can  a  result 
so  contrary  to  all  anticipation  be  explained  ?  The  explanation  appears 
to  me  to  be  simple.  No  measure  or  movement  could  be  adopted  with- 
out the  concurring  assent  of  both  the  patricians  and  plebeians,  and 
each  thus  became  dependent  on  the  other ;  and,  of  consequence,  the 
desire  and  objects  of  neither  could  be  effected  without  the  concurrence 
of  the  other.  To  obtain  this  concurrence,  each  was  compelled  to  con- 
sult the  good-will  of  the  other,  and  to  elevate  to  office,  not  those  only 
who  might  have  the  confidence  of  the  order  to  which  they  belonged, 
but  also  that  of  the  other.  The  result  was,  that  men  possessing  those 
qualities  which  would  naturally  command  confidence — moderation, 
wisdom,  justice,  and  patriotism — were  elevated  to  office  ;  and  the 
weight  of  their  authority  and  the  prudence  of  their  counsel,  combined 
with  that  spirit  of  unanimity  necessarily  resulting  from  the  concurring 
assent  of  the  two  orders,  furnish  the  real  explanation  of  the  power  of 
the  Roman  state,  and  of  that  extraordinary  wisdom,  moderation,  and 
firmness  which  in  so  remarkable  a  degree  characterized  her  public  men. 
I  might  illustrate  the  truth  of  the  position  which  I  have  laid  down  by 
10*  H 


114  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

a  reference  to  the  history  of  all  free  states,  ancient  and  modern,  dis- 
tinguished for  their  power  and  patriotism,  and  conclusively  show,  not 
only  that  there  was  not  one  which  had  not  some  contrivance,  under 
some  form,  by  which  the  concurring  assent  of  the  different  portions  of 
the  community  was  made  necessary  in  the  action  of  government,  but 
also  that  the  virtue,  patriotism,  and  strength  of  the  state  were  in  direct 
proportion  to  the  perfection  of  the  means  of  securing  such  assent. 

From  "  Speech  an  the  Force  Bill,"  1833. 


KEPLY  TO   THE   CHAKGE   OF  .^SCHINES. 

DEMOSTHENES. 

HAD  ^Eschines  confined  his  charge  to  the  subject  of  the  prosecution, 
I  too  would  have  proceeded  at  once  to  my  justification  of  the  decree. 
But  since  he  has  wasted  no  fewer  words  in  the  discussion  of  other  mat- 
ters, in  most  of  them  calumniating  me,  I  deem  it  both  necessary  and 
just,  men  of  Athens,  to  begin  by  shortly  adverting  to  these  points,  that 
none  of  you  may  be  induced  by  extraneous  arguments  to  shut  your 
ears  against  my  defence  to  the  indictment. 

To  all  his  scandalous  abuse  of  my  private  life,  observe  my  plain  and 
honest  answer.  If  you  know  me  to  be  such  as  he  alleged — for  I  have 
lived  nowhere  else  but  among  you — let.  not  my  voice  be  heard,  however 
transcendent  my  statesmanship  I  Rise  up  this  instant  and  condemn 
me !  But  if,  in  your  opinion  and  judgment,  I  am  far  better  and  of 
better  descent  than  my  adversary ;  if  (to  speak  without  offence)  I  am 
not  inferior,  I  or  mine,  to  any  respectable  citizen ;  then  give  no  credit 
to  him  for  his  other  statements — it  is  plain  they  were  all  equally  fic- 
tions— but  to  me  let  the  same  good-will,  which  you  have  uniformly 
exhibited  upon  many  former  trials,  be  manifested  now.  With  all  your 
malice,  ^Eschines,  it  was  very  simple  to  suppose  that  I  should  turn 
from  the  discussion  of  measures  and  policy  to  notice  your  scandal.  I 
will  do  no  such  thing :  I  am  not  so  crazed.  Your  lies  and  calumnies 
about  my  political  life  I  will  examine  forthwith  ;  for  that  loose  ribaldry 
I  shall  have  a  word  hereafter,  if  the  jury  desire  to  hear  it. 

From  "  Oration  on  the  Orown." 


THE   COMMONWEALTH  AND  ITS  AMBASSADOKS. 

DEMOSTHENES. 

Now  let  me  contrast  what  the  Athenian  commonwealth  has  gained 
by  the  peace,  and  what  the  Athenian  ambassadors  ;  and  see  if  the  com- 
monwealth and  these  men  themselves  have  fared  alike.  To  the  com- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  115 

monwealth  the  result  has  been,  that  she  has  relinquished  all  her  pos- 
sessions and  all  her  allies,  and  has  sworn  to  Philip,  that  should  any 
one  else  interfere  ever  to  preserve  them,  you  will  prevent  it,  and  will 
regard  the  person  who  wishes  to  restore  them  to  you  as  an  adversary 
and  a  foe,  the  persofl  who  has  deprived  you  of  them  as  an  ally  and  a 
friend.  These  are  the  terms  which  JEschines  the  defendant  supported, 
and  his  coadjutor  Philocrates  proposed ;  and  when  I  prevailed  on  the 
first  day  and  had  persuaded  you  to  confirm  the  resolution  of  your  allies, 
and  to  summon  Philip's  ambassadors,  the  defendant  drove  it  off  to  the 
following  day,  and  persuaded  you  to  adopt  the  decree  of  Philocrates, 
in  which  these  clauses,  and  many  others  yet  more  shameful,  are  con- 
tained. To  the  state  then  such  consequences  have  resulted  from  the 
peace  : — consequences  more  disgraceful  could  not  easily  be  found :  but 
what  to  the  ambassadors  who  caused  them  ?  I  pass  by  all  the  other 
matters  which  you  have  seen — houses — timber — grain  ;  but  in  the  ter- 
ritory of  our  ruined  allies  they  haye  estates  and  farms  of  large  extent, 
bringing  in  to  Philocrates  an  income  of  a  talent,  to  ^Eschines  here  thirty 
minas.  Is  it  not  shocking  and  dreadful,  0  Athenians,  that  the  misfor- 
tunes of  your  allies  have  become  a  source  of  revenue  to  your  ambassa- 
dors ;  that  the  same  peace  has  to  the  country  which  sent  them  proved 
to  be  destruction  of  allies,  cession  of  dominions,  disgrace  instead  of 
honor,  while  to  the  ambassadors,  who  wrought  these  mischiefs  to  the 
country,  it  has  produced  revenues,  resources,  estates,  riches,  in  exchange 
for  extreme  indigence?  To  prove  the  truth  of  my  statements,  call  me 

the  Olynthian  witnesses. 

From  "  Oration  on  the  Embassy" 


RELIGIOUS  LIBERTY. 

WILLIAM  GASTON. 

SIR, — I  am  opposed,  out  and  out,  to  any  interference  of  the  state  with 
the  opinions  of  its  citizens,  and  more  especially  with  their  opinions  on 
religious  subjects.  Law  is  the  proper  judge  of  action,  and  reward  or 
punishment  its  proper  sanction.  Reason  is  the  proper  umpire  of  opinion, 
and  argument  and  discussion  its  only  fit  advocates.  To  denounce  opin- 
ions by  law  is  as  silly,  and  unfortunately  much  more  tyrannical,  as  it 
would  be  to  punish  crime  by  logic.  Law  calls  out  the  force  of  the  com- 
munity to  compel  obedience  to  its  mandates.  To  operate  on  opinion  by 
law,  is  to  enslave  the  intellect  and  oppress  the  soul — to  reverse,  the  order 
of  nature,  and  make  reason  subservient  to  force.  But  of  all  the  attempts 
to  arrogate  unjust  dominion,  none  is  so  pernicious  as  the  efforts  of 
tyrannical  men  to  rule  over  the  human  conscience.  Religion  is  exclu- 
sively an  affair  between  man  and  his  God.  If  there  be  any  subject 
upon  which  the  interference  of  human  power  is  more  forbidden  than 


116  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

on  all  others,  it  is  on  religion.  Born  of  Faith — nurtured  by  Hope — 
invigorated  by  Charity — looking  for  its  rewards  in  a  world  beyond  the 
grave — it  is  of  Heaven,  heavenly.  The  evidence  upon  which  it  is 
founded,  and  the  sanctions  by  which  it  is  upheld,  are  addressed  solely 
to  the  understanding  and  the  purified  affections.  Even  He,  from  whom 
cometh  every  pure  and  perfect  gift,  and  to  whom  religion  is  directed  as 
its  author,  its  end,  and  its  exceedingly  great  reward,  imposes  no  coer- 
cion on  His  children.  They  believe,  or  doubt,  or  reject,  according  to 
the  impressions  which  the  testimony  of  revealed  truth  makes  upon 
their  minds.  He  causes  His  sun  to  shine  alike  on  the  believer  and  the 
unbeliever,  and  His  dews  to  fertilize  equally  the  soil  of  the  orthodox 
and  the  heretic.  No  earthly  gains  or  temporal  privations  are  to  influ- 
ence their  judgment  here,  and  it  is  reserved  until  the  last  day  for  the 
just  Judge  of  all  the  earth  to  declare  who  have  criminally  refused  to 
examine  or  to  credit  the  evidences  which  were  laid  before  them.  But 
civil  rulers  thrust  themselves  in,  and  become  God's  avengers.  Under 
a  pretended  zeal  for  the  honor  of  His  house,  and  the  propagation  of 
His  Revelation,— 

Snatch  from  His  hand  the  balance  and  the  rod ; 
Rejudge  His  justice — are  the  God  of  God  ; 

define  faith  by  edicts,  statutes,  and  constitutions ;  deal  out  largesses  to 
accelerate  conviction,  and  refute  unbelief  and  heresy  by  the  unanswer- 
able logic  of  pains  and  penalties.  Let  not  religion  be  abused  for  this 
impious  tyranny — religion  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Nothing  can  be 
conceived  more  abhorrent  from  the  spirit  of  true  religion  than  the 
hypocritical  pretensions  of  kings,  princes,  rulers,  and  magistrates,  to 
uphold  her  holy  cause  by  their  unholy  violence. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  N.  C.  Convention  to  amend  the  State  Constitution." 


FALSE   PHILANTHROPY. 

HATNE. 

THERE  is  a  spirit  which,  like  the  father  of  evil,  is  constantly  "  walk- 
ing to  and  fro  about  the  earth,  seeking  whom  it  may  devour :;;  it  is  the 
spirit  of  false  philanthropy.  The  persons  whom  it  possesses  do  not 
indeed  throw  themselves  into  the  flames,  but  they  are  employed  in 
lighting  up  the  torches  of  discord  throughout  the  community.  Their 
first  principle  of  action  is  to  leave  their  own  affairs,  and  neglect  their 
own  duties,  to  regulate  the  affairs  and  duties  of  others.  Theirs  is  the 
task  to  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  naked  of  other  lands,  while 
they  thrust  the  naked,  famished,  and  shivering  beggar  from  their  own 
doors; — to  instruct  the  heathen,  while  their  own  children  want  the 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  117 

bread  of  life.  When  this  spirit  infuses  itself  into  the  bosom  of  a  states- 
man (if  one  so  possessed  can  be  called  a  statesman),  it  converts  him  at 
once  into  a  visionary  enthusiast.  Then  it  is  that  he  indulges  in  golden 
dreams  of  national  greatness  and  prosperity.  He  discovers  that  "  liberty 
is  power,"  and,  not  content  with  vast  schemes  of  improvement  at  home, 
which  it  would  bankrupt  the  treasury  of  the  world  to  execute,  he  flies 
to  foreign  lands,  to  fulfil  obligations  to  "  the  human  race/'  by  inculca- 
ting the  principles  of  "  political  and  religious  liberty,"  and  promoting 
the  "  general  welfare"  of  the  whole  human  race.  It  is  .this  spirit 
which  has  filled  the  land  with  thousands  of  wild  and  visionary 
projects,  which  can  have  no  effect  but  to  waste  the  energies  and 
dissipate  the  resources  of  the  country.  It  is  the  spirit  of  which  the 
aspiring  politician  dexterously  avails  himself,  when,  by  inscribing  on 
his  banner  the  magical  words,  Liberty  and  Philanthropy,  he  draws  to 
his  support  that  class  of  persons  who  are  ready  to  bow  down  at  the 

very  name  of  their  idols. 

From  "  Speech  on  Footers  Resolution,"  1830. 


SOUTH  CAROLINA  IN  THE  REVOLUTION. 

IlATNE. 

WHAT,  sir,  was  the  conduct  of  the  south  during  the  Revolution  ?  Sir, 
I  honor  New  England  for  her  conduct  in  that  glorious  struggle.  But 
great  as  is  the  praise  which  belongs  to  her,  I  think,  at  least  equal 
honor  is  due  to  the  south.  They  espoused  the  quarrel  of  their  brethren, 
with  a  generous  zeal,  which  did  not  suffer  them  to  stop  to  calculate 
their  interest  in  the  dispute.  Favorites  of  the  mother  country,  possessed 
of  neither  ships  nor  seamen  to  create  a  commerical  rivalship,  they  might 
have  found  in  their  situation  a  guarantee  that  their  trade  would  be  for 
ever  fostered  and  protected  by  Great  Britain.  But  trampling  on  all 
considerations  either  of  interest  or  of  safety,  they  rushed  into  the  con- 
flict, and  fighting  for  principle,  perilled  all,  in  the  sacred  cause  of 
freedom.  Never  was  there  exhibited  in  the  history  of  the  world  higher 
examples  of  noble  daring,  dreadful  suffering,  and  heroic  endurance,  than 
by  the  whigs  of  Carolina,  during  the  Revolution.  The  whole  state,  from 
the  mountains  to  the  sea,  was  overrun  by  an  overwhelming  force  of  the 
enemy.  The  fruits  of  industry  perished  on  the  spot  where  they  were 
produced,  or  were  consumed  by  the  foe.  The  "  plains  of  Carolina" 
drank  up  the  most  precious  blood  of  her  citizens!  Black  and  smoking 
ruins  marked  the  places  which  had  been  the  habitations  of  her  children  I 
Driven  from  their  homes,  into  the  gloomy  and  almost  impenetrable 
swamps,  even  there  the  spirit  of  liberty  survived,  and  South  Carolina 
(sustained  by  the  example  of  her  Sumters  and  her  Marions)  proved, 
by  her  conduct,  that  though  her  soil  might  be  overrun,  the  spirit  of  her 

people  was  invincible. 

From  "  Speech  on  Footers  Resolution"  1880. 


118  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

LAWS   CONCERNING   THE   SLAVE   TRADE. 

JAMES  M.  WAYNE. 

VESSELS  of  war  cruising  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  under  our  Act  of 
1819,  have  been  directed  to  search  our  own  vessels,  to  arrest  the  vio* 
lators  of  the  law,  to  bring  in  the  ships  for  condemnation  and  the  men 
for  punishment.  At  this  time  the  government  is  not  unmindful  of  this 
treaty  obligation,  for  our  next  squadron  for  the  coast  of  Africa  will 
consist,  I  believe,  of  four  steamers  and  as  many  sloops-of-war,  and  four 
steam-ships  will  probably  cruise  off  Cuba,  to  intercept  slavers. that  may 
escape  the  ships  on  the  African  coast.  Mr.  Calhoun  voted  for  the 
ratification  of  the  treaty,  and  expressed  his  clear  conviction  "  that  the 
policy  of  closing  the  markets  of  the  world  was  both  right  and  expe- 
dient in  every  point  of  view,  that  we  were  deeply  committed  against 
the  traffic,  both  by  legislation  and  treaty.  The  influence  and  the  efforts 
of  the  civilized  world  were  directed  against  it,  and  that,  too,  under  our 
lead  at  the  commencement." 

Still  later,  in  1855,  the  House  of  Representatives,  by  a  vote  nearly 
unanimous,  decided  that  it  was  not  expedient  to  repeal  the  laws  for  the 
suppression  of  the  slave  trade. 

The  leading  points  in  the  legislative  history  of  the  laws  under  dis- 
cussion have  been  referred  to,  to  show  upon  what  solid  foundations  of 
authority  and  consent,  on  the  part  of  the  executive  and  legislative 
departments  of  the  government,  the  laws  for  the  suppression  of  the 
slave  trade  rest.  No  doubt  has  been  entertained  by  the  long  succes- 
sion of  jurists  and  statesmen  who  have  been  concerned  in  their  discus- 
sion and  enactment,  of  the  constitutional  power  of  Congress  to  pass 
them.  There  is  no  question  of  public  morality  which  has  been  more 
clearly  and  solemnly  maintained  than  that  on  which  this  legislation 
reposes.  It  would  be  a  retrograde  movement  of  more  than  a  century 
to  consent  to  abate  one  line  .of  the  condemnation  of  this  trade,  or  to 
relax  any  effort  for  its  extirpation.  Many  of  the  clauses  of  these  laws 
have  come  before  the  judiciary  department  of  the  United  States  for 
interpretation  ;  property  has  been  sentenced  to  confiscation,  and  men 
have  been  tried  and  some  condemned  for  the  violation  of  them.  Not  a 
question  has  been  decided  in  the  Circuit  or  in  the  Supreme  Court  which 
in  any  manner  impugns  their  validity  as  constitutional  enactments. 

From  "  Charge  to  the  Grand  Jury  in  Savannah"  1859. 


FRIENDSHIP  WITH   ENGLAND. 

RCFUS  KING. 

THE  bill'before  the  Senate,  is  in  nothing  unfriendly  towards  England ; 
— it  is  merely  a  commercial  regulation,  to  which  we  are  even  invited ; 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  119 

*i 

a  measure  strictly  of  self-defence,  and  intended  to  protect  the  legitimate 
i-L's;!urces  of  our  own  country  from  being  any  longer  made  use  of,  not 
as  they  should  be,  for  our  benefit,  but  to  increase  and  strengthen  the 
resources  and  power  of  a  foreign  nation.  The  time  is  propitious. 
Causes  that  formerly  prevented  the  union  of  opinions  in  favor  of  this 
measure,  no  longer  exist ;  the  old  world  is  at  peace,  and  every  nation 
is  busily  employed  in  repairing  the  waste  of  war,  by  cultivating  the 
arts,  and  extending  the  blessings  of  peace  ; — England  .has  come  out  of 
the  most  portentous  war  that  Europe  has  ever  suffered,  not  only  unbro- 
ken, but  with  increased  power.  Her  agriculture,  manufactures,  and 
commerce  were  cherished ;  were  without  interruption,  and  increased, 
while  those  of  neighboring  nations  were  suspended,  interrupted,  or  de- 
stroyed. Her  colonies  and  dependent  territories  have  been  greatly 
enlarged,  at  the  expense  of  her  enemies ;  and  regions,  with  which  we 
and  others  once  had  trade  and  intercourse,  having  fallen  under  her 
power,  are  now  closed  against  us.  We  have  no  other  questions  de- 
pending with  her,  except  those  concerning  impressment  and  the  fish- 
eries, and  their  settlement  can,  in  no  manner,  be  affected  by  the  passing 
of  this  act. 

England  is  ajjreat  and  illustrious  nation,  having  attained  to  this 
pre-eminence  by  generous  and  successful  efforts,  in  breaking  down  the 
civil  and  religious  bondage  of  former  ages.  Her  patriots,  her  scholars, 
and  her  statesmen  have  adorned  her  history,  and  offer  models  for  the 
imitation  of  others.  We  are  the  powerful  descendants  of  England, 
desiring  perpetual  friendship,  and  the  uninterrupted  interchange  of 
kind  offices  and  reciprocal  benefits  with  her.  We  have  demonstrated, 
in  circumstances  the  most  critical,  constant  and  persevering  evidence 
of  this  disposition.  We  still  desire  the  impartial  adjustment  of  our 
mutual  intercourse,  and  the  establishment  of  some  equitable  regula- 
tions, by  which  our  personal  and  maritime  rights  may  be  secure  from 
arbitrary  violation  :  A  settlement  that,  instead  of  endless  collision  and 
dispute,  may  be  productive  of  concord,  good  humor,  and  friendship : 
and  it  depends  on  her,  whether  such  is  to  be  the  relation  between  us. 

From  "Speech  on  the  Navigation  Act,"  1818. 


AMERICAN  INFLUENCE. 

H.  w.  HILLIARD. 

ONE  of  England's  own  writers  has  said,  "  The  possible  destiny  of  the 
United  States  of  America,  as  a  nation  of  one  hundred  millions  of  free- 
men, stretching  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  living  under  the  laws 
of  Alfred,  and  speaking  the  language  of  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  is  an 
august  conception." 

It  is  an  augus-c  conception,  finely  embodied ;  and  I  trust  in  God  that 


120          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

it  will,  at  no  distant  time,  become  a  reality.  I  trust  that  the  world  will 
see,  through  all  time,  our  people  living,  not  only  under  the  laws  of 
Alfred,  but  that  they  will  be  heard  to  speak  throughout  our  wide-spread 
borders  the  language  of  Shakspeare  and  Milton.  Above  all  is  it  my 
prayer  that,  as  long  as  our  posterity  shall  continue  to  inhabit  these 
mountains  and  plains,  and  hills  and  valleys,  they  may  be  found  living 
under  the  sacred  institutions  of  Christianity.  Put  these  things  toge- 
ther, and  what  a  picture  do  they  present  to  the  mental  eye  !  Civiliza- 
tion and  intelligence  started  in  the  East ;  they  have  travelled,  and  are 
still  travelling,  westward ;  but  when  they  shall  have  completed  the 
circuit  of  the  earth,  and  reached  the  extremest  verge  of  the  Pacific 
shores,  then,  unlike  the  fabled  god  of  the  ancients,  who  dipped  his 
glowing  axle  in  the  western  wave,  they  will  take  up  their  permanent 
abode. 

Then  shall  we  enjoy  the  sublime  destiny  of  returning  these  blessings 
to  their  ancient  seat ;  then  will  it  be  ours  to  give  the  priceless  benefits 
of  our  free  institutions,  and  the  pure  and  healthful  light  of  the  gospel, 
back  to  the  dark  family  which  has  so  long  lost  both  truth  and  freedom ; 
then  may  Christianity  plant  herself  there,  and  while  with  one  hand 
she  points  to  the  Polynesian  isles,  rejoicing  in  the  late-recovered  trea- 
sure of  revealed  truth,  with  the  other  present  the  Bible  to  the  Chinese. 
It  is  our  duty  to  aid  in  this  great  work.  I  trust  we  shall  esteem  it  as 
much  our  honor  as  our  duty.  Let  us  not,  like  some  of  the  British  mis- 
sionaries, give  them  the  Bible  in  one  hand  and  opium  in  the  other,  but 
bless  them  only  with  the  pure  word  of  truth. 


HAMILTON. 

GOUVERNEUR  MORRIS. 

BRETHREN  of  the  Cincinnati — there  lies  our  chief!  Let  him  still  be 
our  model.  Like  him,  after  long  and  faithful  public  services,  let  us 
cheerfully  perform  the  social  duties  of  private  life.  Oh !  he  was  mild 
and  gentle.  In  him  there  was  no  offence;  no  guile.  His  generous 
hand  and  heart  were  open  to  all. 

Gentlemen  of  the  bar — you  have  lost  your  brightest  ornament. 
Cherish  and  imitate  his  example.  While,  like  him,  with  justifiable 
and  with  laudable  zeal,  you  pursue  the  interests  of  your  clients,  re- 
member,  like  him,  the  eternal  principle  of  justice. 

Fellow-citizens — you  have  long  witnessed  his  professional  conduct, 
and  felt  his  unrivalled  eloquence.  You  know  how  well  he  performed 
the  duties  of  a  citizen — you  know  that  he  never  courted  your  favor  by 
adulation  or  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  judgment.  You  have  seen  him 
contending  against  you,  and  saving  your  dearest  interests,  as  it  were, 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  121 

m  spite  of  yourselves.  And  you  now  feel  and  enjoy  the  benefits  result- 
ing from  the  firm  energy  of  his  conduct.  Bear  this  testimony  to  the 
memory  of  my  departed  friend.  I  charge  you  to  protect  his  fame.  It 
is  all  he  has  left — all  that  these  poor  orphan  children  will  inherit  from 
their  father.  But,  my  countrymen,  that  fame  may  be  a  rich  treasure 
to  you  also.  Let  it  be  the  test  by  which  to  examine  those  who  solicit 
your  favor.  Disregarding  professions,  view  their  conduct,  and  on  a 
doubtful  occasion  ask,  Would  Hamilton  have  done  this  thing? 

You  all  know  how  he  perished.  On  this  last  scene  I  cannot,  I  must 
not  dwell.  It  might  excite  emotions  too  strong  for  your  better  judg- 
ment. Suffer  not  your  indignation  to  lead  to  any  act  which  might 
again  offend  the  insulted  majesty  of  the  laws.  On  his  part,  as  from  his 
lips,  though  with  my  voice — for  his  voice  you  will  hear  no  more — let 
nie  entreat  you  to  respect  yourselves. 

And  now,  ye  ministers  of  the  everlasting  God,  perform  your  holy 
office,  and  commit  these  ashes  of  our  departed  brother  to  the  bosom  of 

the  grave. 

From  "  Address  to  the  Cincinnati,"  1804. 


ON   THE   DISTRIBUTION  BILL. 

THOMAS  II.  BENTON. 

I  SCORN  the  bill.  I  scout  its  vaunted  popularity.  I  detest  it.  Nor 
can  I  conceive  of  an  object  more  pitiable  and  contemptible  than  that  of 
the  demagogue  haranguing  for  votes,  and  exhibiting  his  tables  of  dollars 
and  acres,  in  order  to  show  each  voter  or  each  state,  how  much  money 
they  will  be  able  to  obtain  from  the  treasury  if  the  laud  bill  passes. 
Such  haranguing,  and  such  exhibition,  is  the  address  of  impudence  and 
knavery  to  supposed  ignorance,  meanness,  and  folly.  It  is  treating  the 
people  as  if  they  were  penny  wise  and  pound  foolish,  and  still  more 
mean  than  foolish.  Why,  the  land  revenue,  after  deducting  the  ex- 
penses, if  fairly  divided  among  the  people,  would  not  exceed  nine-pence 
a  head  per  annum  ;  if  fairly  divided  among  the  states,  and  applied  to 
their  debts,  it  would  not  supersede  above  nine-pence  per  annum  of 
taxation  upon  the  units  of  the  population.  The  day  for  land  sales  has 
gone  by.  The  sales  of  this  year  do  not  exceed  a  million  and  a  half  of 
dollars,  which  would  not  leave  more  than  a  million  for  distribution, 
which,  among  sixteen  millions  of  people,  would  be  exactly  four-pence 
half-penny,  Virginia  money,  per  head;  a  fip  in  New  York,  and  a 
picaillon  in  Louisiana.  At  two  millions,  it  would  be  nine-pence  a  head 
in  Virginia,  equivalent  to  a  levy  in  New  York,  and  a  bit  in  Louisiana  ; 
precisely  the  amount  which,  in  specie  times,  a  gentleman  gives  to  a 
negro  boy  for  holding  his  horse  a  minute  at  the  door.  And  for  this 
miserable  doit — this  insignificant  subdivision  of  a  shilling — a  York 
11 


122          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

shilling — can  the  demagogue  suppose  that  the  people  are  base  enough 
to  violate  their  Constitution — mean  enough  to  surrender  the  defence  of 
their  country,  and  stupid  enough  to  be  taxed  in  their  coffee,  tea,  salt, 
sugar,  coats,  hats,  blankets,  shoes,  shirts,  and  every  article  of  comfort, 
decency,  or  necessity,  which  they  eat,  drink,  or  wear,  or  on  which  they 

stand,  sit,  sleep,  or  lie  ? 

From  "  Speech  in  the  Senate,"  1841. 


TO  THE  NOBLESSE  OF  PKOVENCE. 

MlRABEAU. 

WHAT  have  I  done  that  was  so  criminal  ?  I  have  wished  that  my 
Order  were  wise  enough  to  give  to-day  what  will  infallibly  be  wrested 
from  it  to-morrow ;  that  it  should  receive  the  merits  and  glory  of  sanc- 
tioning the  assemblage  of  the  Three  Orders,  which  all  Provence  loudly 
demands.  This  is  the  crime  of  your  "  enemy  of  peace  !"  Or  rather  I 
have  ventured  to  believe  that  the  people  might.be  in  the  right.  Ah, 
doubtless,  a  patrician  soiled  with  such  a  thought  deserves  vengeance ! 
But  I  am  still  guiltier  than  you  think  ;  for  it  is  my  belief  that  the 
people  which  complains  is  always  in  the  right ;  that  its  indefatigable 
patience  invariably  waits  the  uttermost  excesses  of  oppression,  before  it 
can  determine  on  resisting;  that  it  never  resists  long  enough  to  obtain 
complete  redress ;  and  does  not  sufficiently  know  that  to  strike  its 
enemies  into  terror  and  submission,  it  has  only  to  stand  still,  that  the 
most  innocent  as  the  most  invincible  of  all  powers  is  the  power  of 
refusing  to  do.  I  believe  after  this  manner :  punish  the  enemy  of 
peace ! 

But  you,  ministers  of  a  God  of  peace,  who  are  ordained  to  bless  and 
not  to  curse,  and  yet  have  launched  your  anathema  on  me,  without 
even  the  attempt  at  enlightening  me,  at  reasoning  with  me !  And  you, 
"  friends  of  peace,"  who  denounce  to  the  people,  with  all  vehemence 
of  hatred,  the  one  defender  it  has  yet  found,  out  of  its  own  ranks  ; — 
who,  to  bring  about  concord,  are  filling  capital  and  province  with 
placards  calculated  to  arm  the  rural  districts  against  the  towns,  if  your 
deeds  did  not  refute  your  writings ; — who,  to  prepare  ways  of  concilia- 
tion, protest  against  the  royal  Regulation  for  convoking  the  States- 
General,  because  it  grants  the  people  as  many  deputies  as  both  the 
other  orders,  and  against  all  that  the  coming  National  Assembly  shall 
do,  unless  its  laws  secure  the  triumph  of  your  pretensions,  the  eternity 
of  your  privileges  !  Disinterested  "  friends  of  peace  \"  I  have  appealed 
to  your  honor,  and  summon  you  to  state  what  expressions  of  mine  have 
offended  against  either  the  respect  we  owe  to  the  royal  authority  or  to 
the  nation's  right?  Nobles  of  Provence,  Europe  is  attentive;  weigh 
well  your  answer.  Men  of  God,  beware  ;  God  hears  you  I 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  123 


MONOMANIA. 

DAVID  PAUL  BROWN. 

So  fearfully  and  wonderfully  are  we  made,  that  by  the  excessive  in- 
dulgence of  an  unrestrained,  morbid  passion,  or  by  an  insurmountable 
obstacle  suddenly  checking  that  indulgence,  insanity  is  equally  likely 
to  ensue.  A  check  to  the  ruling  passion  of  pride,  of  love,  of  hope,  of 
patriotism,  of  ambition,  an  utter  check,  when  those  passions  are  at 
their  highest  tide,  will  cause  them,  to  use  a  strong  figure,  to  overflow 
the  banks  of  reason  and  spread  around  them  .destruction  and  desola- 
tion !  This  is  what  is  called  monomania — and  is  characterized  by  the 
ruling  or  despotic  propensity.  Why  did  Lord  Castlereigh  destroy  him- 
self? Why  did  Mr.  Whitbread  destroy  himself?  both  prime  ministers 
of  England — because  they  were  so  ensnared  by  political  wiles  as  to  be 
defeated  in  the  objects  of  their  ambition  ;  they  became  mad  ;  and  suicide 
was  the  result.  Why  did  Sir  Samuel  RomiHy  take  his  own  life  ?  a 
man  of  the  highest  intellect  and  the  warmest  heart — who  was  at  once 
a  public  and  a  private  example — while  revelling  upon  the  very  summit 
of  distinction,  and  professional  honor  ;  he  was  bereft  of  the  partner  of 
his  bosom.  His  ruling  passion  was  resisted,  life  became  no  longer  of 
any  value,  and  he  terminated  it  with  his  own  hand.  The  coroner's 
inquest  placed  all  these  deaths  to  the  account  of  insanity. 

From  "  A  Forensic  Argument,"  Philadelphia,  1859. 


ACTIONS  AND   MOTIVES. 

DAVID  PAUL  BROWN. 

I  AM  now  speaking  of  the  criminal  character  of  conspiracy.  It  is 
not  necessary  that  an  act  should  be  done  at  all.  Nay,  if  the  act  be  a 
felony,  the  conspiracy  is  lost  utterly,  for,  being  but  a  misdemeanor,  it 
is  merged  in  the  graver  offence.  It  is  the  agreement  to  do  the  act  which 
constitutes  the  crime.  Your  honor  will  perceive  the  beautiful  philo- 
sophy of  the  law.  Not  like  the  metaphysical  moonshine  that  is  intro- 
duced here.  The  whole  law,  and  especially  the  criminal  law,  consists 
of  a  system  of  checks  and  safeguards.  It  is  the  protection  of  the  com- 
munity against  vice — and  subserves  the  divine  law  in  forming,  guarding, 
and  inducing  virtue  in  man.  That  is  the  basis  of  it — built  upon  that — 
the  object  is  not  to  punish ;  the  object  is  to  prevent,  or  reform.  What 
does  it  do?  As  long  as  man  keeps  his  design  within  his  heart — within 
liis  breast,  though  it  be  of  demoniac  gloom  and  blackness — of  course 
human  tribunals  cannot  suspect  it,  and  cannot  affect  it.  He  is  left  to 
the  punishment  of  the  Omnipotent;  "for  darkness  and  light  are  both 


124  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

alike  to  Him."  He  alone  can  pry  into  the  deep  recesses  of  the  sinner's 
bosom  ;  drag  forth  the  secret  motive  from  its  hiding-place,  and  expose 
it  to  the  reproaches  of  an  affrighted  and  horror-stricken  world.  What 
can  man  do  in  such  a  case  ?  I  can  tell  you  what  he  can  do,  and  what 
he  does  do.  The  moment  that  by  the  slightest  whisper  the  inward 
workings  and  purposes  of  the  culprit's  mind  are  communicated  to  the 
officers  of  justice,  he  becomes  amenable  to  justice.  Beautiful  system  ! 
Here  is  a  man  who  intends  to  take  the  life  of  another ;  his  motive  and 
his  purpose  are  known  only  to  that  Power  that  can  fathom  the  ocean. 
The  motive  there  is  equal  to  the  act — it  is  the  act  itself.  The  motive 
here  is  nothing,  till  it  be  accompanied  by  the  act,  because  it  cannot  be 
detected. 

From  " A  Forensic  Argument"  Philadelphia,  1859. 


AN  INDEPENDENT  JUDICIARY. 

JAMES  A.  BAYARD. 

No  power  is  so  sensibly  felt  by  society,  as  that  of  the  judiciary. 
The  life  and  property  of  every  man  is  liable  to  be  in  the  hands  of  the 
judges.  Is  it  not  our  great  interest  to  place  our  judges  upon  such 
high  ground  that  no  fear  can  intimidate,  no  hope  seduce  them  ?  The 
present  measure  humbles  them  in  the  dust,  it  prostrates  them  at  the 
feet  of  faction,  it  renders  them  the  tools  of  every  dominant  party.  It 
is  this  effect  which  I  deprecate,  it  is  this  consequence  which  I  deeply 
deplore.  What  does  reason,  what  does  argument  avail,  when  party 
spirit  presides?  Subject  your  bench  to  the  influence  of  this  spirit,  and 
justice  bids  a  final  adieu  to  your  tribunals.  We  are  asked,  sir,  if  the 
judges  are  to  be  independent  of  the  people?  The  question  presents  a 
false  and  delusive  view.  We  are  all  the  people.  We  are,  and  as  long 
as  we  enjoy  our  freedom,  we  shall  be  divided  into  parties.  The  true 
question  is,  shall  the  judiciary  be  permanent,  or  fluctuate  with  the 
tide  of  public  opinion  ?  I  beg,  I  implore  gentlemen  to  consider  the 
magnitude  and  value  of  the  principle  which  they  are  about  to  annihi- 
late. If  your  judges  are  independent  of  political  changes,  they  may 
have  their  preferences,  but  they  will  not  enter  into  the  spirit  of  party. 
But  let  their  existence  depend  upon  the  support  of  the  power  of  a 
certain  set  of  men,  and  they  cannot  be  impartial.  Justice  will  be 
trodden  under  foot.  Your  courts  will  lose  all  public  confidence  and 
respect. 

The  judges  will  be  supported  by  their  partisans,  who,  in  their  turn, 
will  expect  impunity  for  the  wrongs  and  violence  they  commit.  The 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  125 

spirit  of  party  will  be  inflamed  to  madness  ;  and  the  moment  is  not  far 
?ff,  when  this  fair  country  is  to  be  desolated  by  a  civil  war. 

Do  not  say  that  you  render  the  judges  dependent  only  on  the  people. 
You  make  them  dependent  on  your  President.  This  is  his  measure. 
The  same  tide  of  public  opinion  which  changes  a  President,  will  change 
the  majorities  in  the  branches  of  the  legislature.  The  legislature  will 
be  the  instrument  of  his  ambition,  and  he  will  have  the  courts  as  the 
instruments  of  his  vengeance.  He  uses  the  legislature  to  remove  the 
judges,  that  he  may  appoint  creatures  of  his  own.  In  effect,  the  powers 
of  the  government  will  be  concentrated  in  the  hands  of  one  man,  who 
will  dare  to  act  with  more  boldness,  because  he  will  be  sheltered  from 
responsibility.  The  independence  of  the  judiciary  was  the  felicity  of 
our  constitution.  It  was  this  principle  which  was  to  curb  the  fury  of 
party  on  sudden  changes.  The  first  movements  of  power  gained  by  a 
struggle,  are  the  most  vindictive  and  intemperate.  Raised  above  the 
storm,  it  was  the  judiciary  which  was  to  control  the  fiery  zeal,  and  to 
quell  the  fierce  passions  of  a  victorious  faction. 

We  are  standing  on  the  brink  of  that  revolutionary  torrent,  which 
deluged  in  blood  one  of  the  fairest  countries  of  Europe. 

France  had  her  national  assembly,  more  numerous  and  equally  popu- 
lar with  our  own.  She  had  her  tribunals  of  justice,  and  her  juries. 
But  the  legislature  and  her  courts  were  but  the  instruments  of  her 
destruction.  Acts  of  proscription  and  sentences  of  banishment  and 
death  were  passed  in  the  cabinet  of  a  tyrant.  Prostrate  your  judges  at 
the  feet  of  party,  and  you  break  down  the  mounds  which  defend  you 

from  this  torrent. 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Judiciary,"  1802. 


SWITZERLAND,    AN   EXAMPLE. 

PATRICK  HENRY. 

SWITZERLAND  consists  of  thirteen  cantons  expressly  confederated  for 
national  defence.  They  have  stood  the  shock  of  four  hundred  years : 
that  country  has  enjoyed  internal  tranquillity  most  of  that  long  period. 
Their  dissensions  have  been,  comparatively  to  those  of  other  countries, 
very  few.  What  has  passed  in  the  neighboring  countries  ?  wars,  dis- 
sensions, and  intrigues — Germany  involved  in  the  most  deplorable  civil 
war  thirty  years  successively,  continually  convulsed  with  intestine 
divisions,  and  harassed  by  foreign  wars — France  with  her  mighty 
monarchy  perpetually  at  war.  Compare  the  peasants  of  Switzerland 
with  those  of  any  other  mighty  nation  ;  you  will  find  them  far  more 
happy :  for  one  civil  war  among  them,  there  have  been  five  or  six  among 
other  nations :  their  attachment  to  their  country,  and  to  freedom,  their 


126          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

resolute  intrepidity  in  their  defence,  the  consequent  security  and  happi- 
ness which  they  have  enjoyed,  and  the  respect  and  awe  which  these 
things  produce  in  their  bordering  nations,  have  signalized  those  repub- 
licans. Their  valor,  sir,  has  been  active ;  everything  that  sets  in 
motion  the  springs  of  the  human  heart,  engaged  them  to  the  protection 
of  their  inestimable  privileges.  They  have  not  only  secured  their  own 
liberty,  but  have  been  the  arbiters  of  the  fate  of  other  people.  Here, 
sir,  contemplate  the  triumph  of  republican  governments  over  the  pride 
of  monarchy.  I  acknowledge,  sir,  that  the  necessity  of  national  defence 
has  prevailed  in  invigorating  their  councils  and  arms,  and  has  been,  in 
a  considerable  degree,  the  means  of  keeping  these  honest  people  together. 
But,  sir,  they  have  had  wisdom  enough  to  keep  together  and  render 
themselves  formidable.  Their  heroism  is  proverbial.  They  would 
heroically  fight  for  their  government,  and  their  laws.  One  of  the 
illumined  sons  of  these  times  would  not  fight  for  those  objects.  Those 
virtuous  and  simple  people  have  not  a  mighty  and  splendid  president, 
nor  enormously  expensive  navies  and  armies  to  support.  No,  sir,  those 
brave  republicans  have  acquired  their  reputation  no  less  by  their  un- 
daunted intrepidity,  than  by  the  wisdom  of  their  frugal  and  economical 
policy.  Let  us  follow  their  example,  and  be  equally  happy.  The 
honorable  member  advises  us  to  adopt  a  measure  which  will  destroy 
our  bill  of  rights :  for,  after  hearing  his  picture  of  nations,  and  his  rea- 
sons for  abandoning  all  the  powers  retained  to  the  states  by  the  con- 
federation, I  am  more  firmly  persuaded  of  the  impropriety  of  adopting 
this  new  plan  in  its  present  shape. 

From  "  Speoch  on  the  Federal  Constitution"  1788. 


AMENDMENTS   TO   THE   CONSTITUTION. 

PATRICK  HENRT. 

I  AM  constrained  to  make  a  few  remarks  on  the  absurdity  of  adopting 
this  system,  and  relying  on  the  chance  of  getting  it  amended  after- 
wards. When  it  is  confessed  to  be  replete  with  defects,  is  it  not  offer- 
ing to  insult  your  understandings,  to  attempt  to  reason  you  out  of  the 
propriety  of  rejecting  it,  till  it  be  amended?  Does  it  not  insult  your 
judgments  to  tell  you — adopt  first,  and  then  amend?  Is  your  rage  for 
novelty  so  great,  that  you  are  first  to  sign  and  seal,  and  then  to  retract  ? 
Is  it  possible  to  conceive  a  greater  solecism  ?  I  am  at  a  loss  what  to 
say.  You  agree  to  bind  yourselves  hand  and  foot — for  the  sake  of  what? 
Of  being  unbound.  You  go  into  a  dungeon — for  what  ?  To  get  out. 
Is  there  no  danger  when  you  go  in,  that  the  bolts  of  federal  authority 
shall  shut  you  in  ?  Human  nature  never  will  part  from  power.  Look 
for  an  example  of  a  voluntary  relinquishment  of  power,  from  one  end 
of  the  globe  to  another — you  will  find  none.  Nine-tenths  of  our  fellow- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  127 

men  have  been,  and  are  now,  depressed  by  the  most  intolerable  slavery, 
in  the  differents  parts  of  the  world ;  because  the  strong  hand  of  power 
has  bolted  them  in  the  dungeon  of  despotism.  Review  the  present 
situation  of  the  nations  of  Europe,  which  is  pretended  to  be  the  freest 
quarter  of  the  globe.  Cast  your  eyes  on  the  countries  called  free  there. 
Look  at  the  country  from  which  we  are  descended,  I  beseech  you  ;  and 
although  we  are  separated  by  everlasting,  insuperable  partitions,  yet 
there  are  some  virtuous  people  there  who  are  friends  to  human  nature 
and  liberty.  Look  at  Britain  ;  see  there  the  bolts  and  bars  of  power  ; 
see  bribery  and  corruption  defiling  the  fairest  fabric  that  ever  human 
nature  reared.  Can  a  gentleman,  who  is  an  Englishman,  or  who  is 
acquainted  with  the  English  history,  desire  to  prove  these  evils  ?  See 
the  efforts  of  a  man  descended  from  a  friend  of  America  ;  see  the  efforts 
of  that  man,  assisted  even  by  the  king,  to  make  reforms.  But  you  find 
the  faults  too  strong  to  be  amended.  Nothing  but  bloody  war  can 
alter  them.  See  Ireland  :  that  country  groaning  from  century  to  cen- 
tury, without  getting  their  government  amended.  Previous  adoption 
was  the  fashion  there.  They  sent  for  amendments  from  time  to  time, 
but  never  obtained  them,  though  pressed  by  the  severest  oppression,  till 
eighty  thousand  volunteers  demanded  them  sword  in  hand— till  the 
power  of  Britain  was  prostrate ;  when  the  American  resistance  was 
crowned  with  success.  Shall  we  do  so?  If  you  judge  by  the  expe- 
rience of  Ireland,  you  must  obtain  the  amendments  as  early  as  possible. 
But,  I  ask  you  again,  where  is  the  example  that  a  government  was 
amended  by  those  who  instituted  it?  Where  is  the  instance  of  the 
errors  of  a  government  rectified  by  those  who  adopted  them  ? 

1'rom  " Speech  on  the  Federal  Cimstitution"  1788. 


JAMES   II.   AND   GEOKGE   III. 

WILLIAM  H.  DRAYTON. 

KING  JAMES  broke  the  original  contract  by  not  affording  due  protec- 
tion to  his  subjects,  although  he  was  not  charged  with  having  seized 
their  towns,  and  with  having  held  them  against  the  people — or  with 
having  laid  them  in  ruins  by  his  arms — or  with  having  seized  their 
vessels — or  with  having  pursued  the  people  with  fire  and  sword — or 
with  having  declared  them  rebels  for  resisting  his  arms  levelled  to 
destroy  their  lives,  liberties,  and  properties — but  George  the  Third  hath 
done  all  those  things  against  America ;  and  it  is  therefore  undeniable, 
that  he  hath  not  afforded  due  protection  to  the  people.  Wherefore,  if 
James  the  Second  broke  the  original  contract,  it  is  undeniable  that 
George  the  Third  has  also  broken  the  original  contract  between  king 
and  people ;  and  that  he  made  use  of  the  most  violent  measures  by 


128  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

which  it  could  be  done — violences,  of  which  JAMES  was  GUILTLESS. 
Measures,  carrying  conflagration,  massacre,  and  open  war  amidst  a 
people,  whose  subjection  to  the  king  of  Great  Britain,  the  law  holds 
to  be  due  only  as  a  return  for  protection.  And  so  tenacious  and  clear 
is  the  law  upon  this  very  principle,  that  it  is  laid  down,  subjection  is 
not  due  even  to  a  king  de  jure,  or  of  right,  unless  he  be  also  king  de 
facto,  or  in  possession  of  the  executive  powers  dispensing  protection. 

From  "  Charge  to  the  Grand  Jury,"  1776. 


AMEKICAN   EIGHTS. 

JOSEPH  WARREN. 

PARDON  me,  my  fellow-citizens,  I  know  you  want  not  zeal  or  forti- 
tude. You  will  maintain  your  rights,  or  perish  in  the  generous 
struggle.  However  difficult  the  combat,  you  never  will  decline  it  when 
freedom  is  the  prize.  An  independence  of  Great  Britain  is  not  our 
U.O1.  No,  our  wish  is,  that  Britain  and  the  colonies  may,  like  the  oak 
and  ivy,  grow  and  increase  in  strength  together.  But  whilst  the 
infatuated  plan  of  making  one  part  of  the  empire  slaves  to  the  other  is 
persisted  in,  the  interests  and  safety  of  Britain,  as  well  as  the  colonies, 
require  that  the  wise  measures,  recommended  by  the  honorable  the 
Continental  Congress,  be  steadily  pursued ;  whereby  the  unnatural 
contest  between  a  parent  honored  and  a  child  beloved,  may  probably 
be  brought  to  such  an  issue,  as  that  the  peace  and  happiness  of  both 
may  be  established  upon  a  lasting  basis.  But  if  these  pacific  measures 
are  ineffectual,  and  it  appears  that  the  only  way  to  safety  is  through 
fields  of  blood,  I  know  you  will  not  turn  your  foces  from  your  foes,  but 
will,  undauntedly,  press  forward,  until  tyranny  is  trodden  under  foot, 
and  you  have  fixed  your  adored  goddess  liberty,  fast  by  a  Brunswick's 
side,  on  the  American  throne. 

You,  then,  who  have  nobly  espoused  your  country's  cause,  who 
generously  have  sacrificed  wealth  and  ease ;  who  have  despised  the 
pomp  and  show  of  tinselled  greatness ;  refused  the  summons  to  the 
festive  board ;  been  deaf  to  the  alluring  calls  of  luxury  and  mirth ; 
who  have  forsaken  the  downy  pillow,  to  keep  your  vigils  by  the  mid- 
night lamp  for  the  salvation  of  your  invaded  country,  that  you  might 
break  the  fowler's  snare,  and  disappoint  the  vulture  of  his  prey — you 
then  will  reap  that  harvest  of  renown  which  you  so  justly  have 
deserved.  Your  country  shall  pay  her  grateful  tribute  of  applause. 
Even  the  children  of  your  most  inveterate  enemies,  ashamed  to  tell 
from  whom  they  sprang,  while  they,  in  secret,  curse  their  stupid,  cruel 
parents,  shall  join  the  general  voice  of  gratitude  to  those  who  broke 
the  fetters  which  their  fathers  forged. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  129 

Having  redeemed  your  country,  and  secured  the  blessing  to  future 
generations,  who,  fired  by  your  example,  shall  emulate  yonr  virtues, 
and  learn  from  you  the  heavenly  art  of  making  millions  happy ;  with 
heartfelt  joy,  with  transports  all  your  own,  you  cry,  The  glorious  work 
is  done;  then  drop  the  mantle  to  some  young  Elisha,  and  take  your 
seats  with  kindred  spirits  in  your  native  skies ! 

From  "  Oration  on  the  Boston  Massacre,"  1770. 


THE   SOUTHERN   CAMPAIGN. 

JOHN  RttTlEDGE. 

I  ALSO  most  heartily  congratulate  you  on  the  glorious  victory  obtained 
by  the  combined  forces  of  America  and  France,  over  their  common 
enemy :  when  the  very  general  who  was  second  in  command  at  the 
reduction  of  Charleston,  and  to  whose  boasted  prowess  and  highly- 
extolled  abilities  the  conquest  of  no  less  than  three  states  had  been 
arrogantly  committed,  was  speedily  compelled  to  accept  of  the  same 
mortifying  terms  which  had  been  imposed  on  that  brave  but  unfortunate 
garrison :  to  surrender  an  army  of  many  thousand  regulars,  and  to 
abandon  his  wretched  followers,  whom  he  had  artfully  seduced  from 
their  allegiance  by  specious  promises  of  protection,  which  he  could 
never  have  hoped  to  fulfil,  to  the  justice  or  mercy  of  their  country,  on 
the  naval  superiority  established  by  the  illustrious  ally  of  the  United 
States — a  superiority  in  itself  so  decided,  and  in  its  consequences  so 
extensive,  as  must  inevitably  soon  oblige  the  enemy  to  yield  to  us  the 
only  post  which  they  occupy  in  this  state :  and  on  the  reiterated  proofs 
of  the  sincerest  friendship,  and  on  the  great  support  which  America 
has  received  from  that  powerful  monarch — a  monarch  whose  magna- 
nimity is  universally  acknowledged  and  admired,  and  on  whose  royal 
word  we  may  confidently  rely  for  every  necessary  assistance:  on  the  per- 
fect harmony  which  subsists  between  France  and  America:  on  the 
stability  which  her  independence  has  acquired,  and  the  certainty  that 
it  is  too  deeply  rooted  ever  to  be  shaken  ;  for  animated  as  they  are  by 
national  honor,  and  united  by  one  common  interest,  it  must  and  will  be 
maintained. 

From  "  Speech  to  the  General  Assembly  of  South  Carolina"  1782. 


ENGLISH   PRESUMPTION. 

JAMES  MADISOIT. 

lir  the  treaty  between  the  United  States  and  his  most  Christian 
majesty,  among  other  things  it  is  stipulated,  that  the  great  principle 
on  tyljich  the  armed  neutrality  in  Europe  was  founded,  should  prevail 

I 


130  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

in  case  of  future  wars.  The  principle  is  this,  that  free  ships  shall 
make  free  goods,  and  that  vessels  and  goods  shall  be  both  free  from 
condemnation.  Great  Britain  did  not  recognise  it.  While  all  Europe 
was  against  her,  she  held  out  without  acceding  to  it.  It  has  been  con- 
sidered for  some  time  past,  that  the  flames  of  war,  already  kindled, 
would  spread,  and  that  France  and  England  were  likely  to  draw  those 
swords  which  were  so  recently  put  up.  This  is  judged  probable.  We 
should  not  be  surprised,  in  a  short  time,  if  we  found  ourselves  as  a 
neutral  nation — France  being  on  one  side,  and  Great  Britain  on  the 
other.  Then,  what  would  be  the  situation  of  America  ?  She  is  remote 
from  Europe,  and  ought  not  to  engage  in  her  politics  or  wars.  The 
American  vessels,  if  they  can  do  it  with  advantage,  may  carry  on  the 
commerce  of  the  contending  nations.  It  is  a  source  of  wealth  which 
we  ought  not  to  deny  to  our  citizens.  But,  sir,  is  there  not  infinite 
danger,  that  in  despite  of  all  our  caution,  we  shall  be  drawn  into  the 
war?  If  American  vessels  have  French  property  on  board,  Great 
Britain  will  seize  them.  By  this  means,  we  shall  be  obliged  to  relin- 
quish the  advantage  of  a  neutral  nation,  or  be  engaged  in  a  war.  A 
neutral  nation  ought  to  be  respectable,  or  else  it  will  be  insulted  and 
attacked.  America,  in  her  present  impotent  situation,  would  run  the 
risk  of  being  drawn  in,  as  a  party  in  the  war,  and  lose  the  advantage 
of  being  neutral.  Should  it  happen,  that  the  British  fleet  should  be 
superior,  have  we  not  reason  to  conclude,  from  the  spirit  displayed  by 
that  nation  to  us  and  to  all  the  world,  that  we  should  T>e  insulted  in 
our  own  ports,  and  our  vessels  seized  ?  But  if  we  be  in  a  respectable 
situation  ;  if  it  be  known  that  our  government  can  command  the  whole 
resources  of  the  Union,  we  shall  be  suffered  to  enjoy  the  great  advan- 
tages of  carrying  on  the  commerce  of  the  nations  at  war ;  for  none  of 
them  would  be  willing  to  add  us  to  the  number  of  their  enemies.  I 
shall  say  no  more  on  this  point,  there  being  others  which  merit  your 
consideration. 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Federal  Constitution,"  1788. 


FACTION  AND  TYRANNY. 

ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 

WE  should  guard  against  a  spirit  of  faction,  that  great  bane  to  com- 
munity, that  mortal  poison  to  our  land.  It  is  considered  by  all  great 
men  as  the  natural  disease  of  our  form  of  government,  and  therefore  we 
ought  to  be  careful  to  restrain  that  spirit.  We  have  been  careful  that 
when  one  party  comes  in  it  shall  not  be  able  to  break  down  and  bear 
away  the  others.  If  this  be  not  so,  in  vain  have  we  made  constitutions  : 
for  if  it  be  not  so,  then  we  must  go  into  anarchy,  and  from  thence  to 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  131 

despotism  and  to  a  master.  Against  this  I  know  there  is  an  almost 
insurmountable  obstacle  in  the  spirit  of  the  people.  They  would  not 
submit  to  be  thus  enslaved.  Every  tongue,  every  arm  would  be  uplifted 
against  it ;  they  would  resist,  and  resist,  and  resist,  till  they  hurled 
from  their  seats  those  who  dared  make  the  attempt.  To  watch  the 
progress  of  such  endeavors  is  the  office  of  a  free  press ;  to  give  us  early 
alarm,  and  put  us  on  our  guard  against  the  encroachments  of  power. 
This,  then,  is  a  right  of  the  utmost  importance  ;  one  for  which,  instead 
of  yielding  it  up,  we  ought  rather  to  spill  our  blood. 

Never  can  tyranny  be  introduced  into  this  country  by  arms ;  these 
can  never  get  rid  of  a  popular  spirit  of  inquiry ;  the  only  way  to  crush 
it  down  is  by  a  servile  tribunal.  It  is  only  by  the  abuse  of  the  forms 
of  justice  that  we  can  be  enslaved.  An  army  never  can  do  it.  For 
ages  it  can  never  be  attempted.  The  spirit  of  the  country,  with  arms 
in  their  hands,  and  disciplined  as  a  militia,  would  render  it  impossible. 
Every  pretence  that  liberty  can  be  thus  invaded  is  idle  declamation.  It 
is  not  to  be  endangered  by  a  few  thousands  of  miserable,  pitiful  mili- 
tary. It  is  not  thus  that  the  liberty  of  this  country  is  to  be  destroyed. 
It  is  to  be  subverted  only  by  a  pretence  of  adhering  to  all  the  forms  of 
law,  and  yet,  by  breaking  down  the  substance  of  our  liberties ;  by 
devoting  a  wretched  but  honest  man  as  the  victim  of  a  nominal  trial. 
It  is  not  by  murder,  by  an  open  and  public  execution,  that  he  would  be 
taken  off.  The  sight  of  this,  of  a  fellow-citizen's  blood,  would  at  first 
beget  sympathy ;  this  would  rouse  into  action,  and  the  people,  in  the 
madness  of  their  revenge,  would  break,  on  the  heads  of  their  oppressors, 
the  chains  they  had  destined  for  others. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  case  of  Harry  CrosweU,"  1804. 


THE  ACHIEVEES   OF   OUR    LIBERTY. 

JOHN  HANCOCK. 

I  THANK  God,  that  America  abounds  in  men  who  are  superior  to 
all  temptation,  whom  nothing  can  divert  from  a  steady  pursuit  of  the 
interest  of  their  country ;  who  are  at  once  its  ornament  and  safeguard. 
And  sure  I  am,  I  should  not  incur  your  displeasure,  if  I  paid  a  respect, 
so  justly  due  to  their  much-honored  characters,  in  this  place.  But 
when  I  name  an  Adams,  such  a  numerous  host  of  fellow-patriots  rush 
upon  my  mind,  that  I  fear  it  would  take  up  too  much  of  your  time, 
should  I  attempt  to  call  over  the  illustrious  roll.  But  your  grateful 
hearts  will  point  you  to  the  men ;  and  their  revered  names,  in  all  suc- 
ceeding times,  shall  grace  the  annals  of  America.  From  them  let  us, 
my  friends,  take  example ;  from  them  let  us  catch  the  divine  enthu- 
siasm ;  and  feel,  each  for  himself,  the  godlike  pleasure  of  diffusing 


132  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

happiness  on  all  around  us ;  of  delivering  the  oppressed  from  the  iron 
grasp  of  tyranny ;  of  changing  the  hoarse  complaints  and  bitter  moans 
of  wretched  slaves  into  those  cheerful  songs,  which  freedom  and  con- 
tentment must  inspire.  There  is  a  heartfelt  satisfaction  in  reflecting 
on  our  exertions  for  the  public  weal,  which  all  the  sufferings  an  enraged 
tyrant  can  inflict,  will  never  take  away ;  which  the  ingratitude  and 
reproaches  of  those  whom  we  have  saved  from  ruin,  cannot  rob  us  of. 
The  virtuous  asserter  of  the  rights  of  mankind  merits  a  reward,  which 
even  a  want  of  success  in  his  endeavors  to  save  his  country,  the  heaviest 
misfortune  which  can  befall  a  genuine  patriot,  cannot  entirely  prevent 
him  from  receiving. 

I  have  the  most  animating  confidence  that  the  present  noble  struggle 
for  liberty  will  terminate  gloriously  for  America.  And  let  us  play  the 
man  for  our  God,  and  for  the  cities  of  our  God  ;  while  we  are  using  the 
means  in  our  power,  let  us  humbly  commit  our  righteous  cause  to  the 
great  Lord  of  the  universe,  who  loveth  righteousness  and  hateth 
iniquity.  And  having  secured  the  approbation  of  our  hearts,  by  a 
faithful  and  unwearied  discharge  of  our  duty  to  our  country,  let  us 
joyfully  leave  our  concerns  in  the  hands  of  Him  who  raiseth  up  and 
pulleth  down  the  empires  and  kingdoms  of  the  world  as  he  pleases ; 
and  with  cheerful  submission  to  his  sovereign  will?*  devoutly  say, — 
"  Although  the  fig-tree  shall  not  blossom,  neither  shall  fruit  be  in  the 
vines  ;  the  labor  of  the  olive  shall  fail,  and  the  field  shall  yield  no  meat ; 
the  flock  shall  be  cut  off  from  the  fold,  and  there  shall  be  no  herd  in 
the  stalls  ;  yet  we  will  rejoice  in  the  Lord,  we  will  joy  in  the  God  of  our 
salvation." 

From  " Speech  on  the  Anniversary  of  the  Boston  Massacre"  1774. 


INAUGURAL   ADDRESS. 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

AMONG  the  vicissitudes  incident  to  life,  no  event  could  have  filled  me 
with  greater  anxieties,  than  that  of  which  the  notification  was  trans- 
mitted by  your  order,  and  received  on  the  fourteenth  day  of  the  present 
month.  On  the  one  hand,  I  was  summoned  by  my  country,  whose 
voice  I  can  never  hear  but  with  veneration  and  love,  from  a  retreat 
which  I  had  chosen  with  the  fondest  predilection,  and  in  my  flattering 
hopes  with  an  immutable  decision  as  the  asylum  of  my  declining  years  ; 
a  retreat  which  was  rendered  every  day  more  necessary,  as  well  as 
more  dear  to  me,  by  the  addition  of  habit  to  inclination,  and  of  frequent 
interruptions  in  my  health  to  the  gradual  waste  committed  on  it  by 
time.  On  the  other  hand,  the  magnitude  and  difficulty  of  the  trust,  to 
which  the  voice  of  my  country  called  me,  being  sufficient  to  awaken  in 
the  wisest  ana  most  experienced  of  her  citizens  a  distrustful  scrutiny 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  133 

into  his  qualifications,  could  not  but  overwhelm  with  despondence,  one, 
who  inheriting  inferior  endowments  from  nature,  and  unpractised  in 
the  duties  of  civil  administration,  ought  to  be  peculiarly  conscious  of 
his  own  deficiencies.  In  this  conflict  of  emotions,  all  I  dare  aver,  is, 
that  it  has  been  my  faithful  study  to  collect  my  duty  from  a  just 
appreciation  of  every  circumstance  by  which  it  might  be  affected.  All 
I  dare  hope  is,  that  if  in  executing  this  task,  I  have  been  too  much 
swayed  by  a  grateful  remembrance  of  former  instances,  or  by  an 
affectionate  sensibility  to  this  transcendent  proof  of  the  confidence  of 
my  fellow-citizens,  and  have  thence  too  little  consulted  my  incapacity 
as  well  as  disinclination  for  the  weighty  and  untried  cares  before  me, 
my  error  will  be  palliated  by  the  motives  which  misled  me,  and  its 
consequences  be  judged  by  my  country,  with  some  share  of  the  partiality 

in  which  they  originated. 

From  "  The  Inaugural  Address,"  1789. 


THE   RULE    OF  AMERICAN   CONDUCT. 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

THE  great  rule  of  conduct  for  us,  in  regard  to  foreign  nations,  is,  in 
extending  our  commercial  relations,  to  have  with  them  as  little  political 
connection  as  possible.  So  far  as  we  have  already  formed  engagements, 
let  them  be  fulfilled  with  perfect  good  faith.  Here  let  us  stop. 

Europe  has  a  set  of  primary  interests,  which  to  us  have  none,  or  a 
very  remote  relation.  Hence  she  must  be  engaged  in  frequent  contro- 
versies, the  causes  of  which  are  essentially  foreign  to  our  ccncerns. 
Hence,  therefore,  it  must  be  unwise  in  us  to  implicate  ourselves,  by 
artificial  ties,  in  the  ordinary  vicissitudes  of  her  politics,  or  the  ordinary 
combinations  and  collisions  of  her  friendships  and  enmities. 

Our  detached  and  distant  situation  invites  and  enables  us  to  pursue 
a  different  course.  If  we  remain  one  people,  under  an  efficient  govern- 
ment, the  period  is  not  far  off  when  we  may  defy  material  injury  from 
external  annoyance ;  when  we  may  take  such  an  attitude  as  will  cause 
the  neutrality  we  may  at  any  time  resolve  upon,  to  be  scrupulously 
respected  ;  when  belligerent  nations,  under  the  impossibility  of  making 
acquisitions  upon  us,  will  not  lightly  hazard  the  giving  us  provocation  ; 
when  we  may  choose  peace  or  war,  as  our  interest,  guided  by  justice, 
shall  counsel. 

From  "  Farewell  Address,"  179& 


12 


134  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   APPEAL   TO   ARMS. 

JOHN  DICKINSON. 

OUR  cause  is  just.  Our  union  is  perfect.  Our  internal  resources 
are  great,  and,  if  necessary,  foreign  assistance  is  undoubtedly  attain- 
able. We  gratefully  acknowledge,  as  signal  instances  of  Divine  favor 
towards  us,  that  his  providence  would  not  permit  us  to  be  called  into 
this  severe  controversy,  until  we  were  grown  up  to  our  present  strength, 
had  been  previously  exercised  in  warlike  operations,  and  possessed  the 
means  of  defending  ourselves.  With  hearts  fortified  by  these  animat- 
ing reflections,  we  most  solemnly,  before  God  and  the  world,  DECLARE, 
that,  exerting  the  utmost  energy  of  those  powers  which  our  beneficent 
Creator  has  graciously  bestowed  upon  us,  the  arms  we  have  been  com- 
pelled by  our  enemies  to  assume,  we  will,  in  defiance  of  every  hazard, 
with  unabating  firmness  and  perseverance,  employ  for  the  preservation 
of  our  liberties ;  being  with  one  mind  resolved  to  die  freemen  rather 
than  to  live  slaves. 

Lest  this  declaration  should  disquiet  the  minds  of  our  friends  and 
fellow-subjects  in  any  part  of  the  empire,  -we  assure  them  that  we  mean 
not  to  dissolve  that  union  which  has  so  long  and  so  happily  subsisted 
between  us,  and  which  we  sincerely  wish  to  see  restored.  Necessity 
has  not  yet  driven  us  into  that  desperate  measure,  or  induced  us  to 
excite  any  other  nation  to  war  against  them.  We  have  not  raised 
armies  with  ambitious  designs  of  separating  from  Great  Britain,  and 
establishing  independent  states.  We  fight  not  for  glory  or  for  conquest. 
We  exhibit  to  mankind  the  remarkable  spectacle  of  a  people  attacked 
by  unprovoked  enemies,  without  any  imputation  or  even  suspicion  of 
offence.  They  boast  of  their  privileges  and  civilization,  and  yet  profiler 
no  milder  conditions  than  servitude  or  death. 

In  our  own  native  land,  in  defence  of  the  freedom  that  is  our  birth- 
right, and  which  we  ever  enjoyed  till  the  late  violation  of  it — for  the 
protection  of  our  property,  acquired  solely  by  the  honest  industry  of 
our  forefathers  and  ourselves,  against  violence  actually  offered,  we  have 
taken  up  arms.  We  shall  lay  them  down  when  hostilities  shall  cease 
on  the  part  of  the  aggressors,  and  all  .danger  of  their  being  renewed 
shall  be  removed,  and  not  before. 

From  "  Declaration  on  Taking  up  jirms"  1775. 


THE   NECESSITY   OF   INDEPENDENCE. 

SAMUEL  ADAMS. 

FROM  the  day  on  which  an  accommodation  takes  place  between  Eng- 
land and  America,  on  any  other  terms  than  as  independent  states,  I 
shall  date  the  ruin  of  this  country.  A  politic  minister  will  study  to 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  135 

lull  us  into  security,  by  granting  us  the  full  extent  of  our  petitions. 
The  warm  sunshine  of.  influence  would  melt  down  the  virtue  which 
the  violence  of  the  storm  rendered  more  firm  and  unyielding.  In  a 
state  of  tranquillity,  wealth,  and  luxury,  our  descendants  would  forget 
the  arts  of  war,  and  the  noble  activity  and  zeal  which  made  their 
ancestors  invincible.  Every  art  of  corruption  would  be  employed  to 
loosen  the  bond  of  union  which  renders  our  resistance  formidable. 
When  the  spirit  of  liberty  which  now  animates  our  hearts  and  gives 
success  to  our  arms  is  extinct,  our  numbers  will  accelerate  our  ruin, 
and  render  us  easier  victims  to  tyranny.  Ye  abandoned  minions  of  an 
infatuated  ministry,  if  peradventure  any  should  yet  remain  among  us ! — 
remember  that  a  Warren  and  Montgomery  are  numbered  among  the 
dead.  Contemplate  the  mangled  bodies  of  your  countrymen,  and  then 
say  what  should  be  the  reward  of  such  sacrifices  ?  Bid  us  and  our 
posterity  bow  the  knee,  supplicate  the  friendship,  and  plough,  and  sow, 
and  reap,  to  glut  the  avarice  of  the  men  who  have  let  loose  on  us  the 
dogs  of  war  to  riot  in  our  blood,  and  hunt  us  from  the  face  of  the  earth  ? 
If  ye  love  wealth  better  than  liberty,  the  tranquillity  of  servitude  than 
the  animating  contest  of  freedom — go  from  us  in  peace.  We  ask  not 
your  counsels  or  arms.  Crouch  down  and  lick  the  hands  which  feed 
you.  May  your  chains  set  lightly  upon  you,  and  may  posterity  forget 
that  ye  were  our  countrymen. 

From  "  Address  in  Philadelpliia"  1776. 


CALL   TO   AMERICANS. 

JOSIAH  QUINCT,  JR. 

BY  the  sweat  of  our  brow  we  earn  the  little  we  possess :  from  nature 
we  derive  the  common  rights  of  man — and  by  charter  we  claim  the 
liberties  of  Britons !  Shall  we,  dare  we  pusillanimously  surrender  our 
birthright?  Is  the  obligation  to  our  fathers  discharged — is  the  debt 
we  owe  posterity  paid  ?  Answer  me,  thou  coward,  who  hidest  thyself 
in  the  hour  of  trial.  If  there  is  no  reward  in  this  life,  no  prize  of 
glory  in  the  next,  capable  of  animating  thy  dastard  soul ;  think  and 
tremble,  thou  miscreant,  at  the  whips  and  stripes  thy  master*  shall  lash 
thee  with  on  earth — and  the  flames  and  scorpions  thy  second  master 
shall  torment  thee  with  hereafter ! 

Oh,  my  countrymen !  what  will  our  children  say  when  they  read  the 
history  of  these  times,  should  they  find  we  tamely  gave  away,  without 
one  noble  struggle,  the  most  invaluable  of  earthly  blessings?  As  they 
drag  the  galling  chain,  will  they  not  execrate  us  ?  If  we  have  any 
respect  for  things  sacred  ;  any  regard  to  the  dearest  treasure  on  earth — 
if  we  have  one  tender  sentiment  for  posterity  ;  if  we  would  not  bo 


136  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

despised  by  the  whole  world — let  us,  in  the  most  open,  solemn  manner, 
and  with  determined  fortitude,  swear  we  will  die,  if  we  cannot  live 
freemen ! 

Be  not  lulled,  my  countrymen,  with  vain  imaginations,  or  idle  fancies. 
To  hope  for  the  protection  of  Heaven,  without  doing  our  duty,  and 
exerting  ourselves  as  becomes  men,  is  to  mock  the  Deity.  Wherefore 
had  man  his  reason,  if  it  were  not  to  direct  him  ?  Wherefore  his 
strength,  if  it  be  not  his  protection  ?  To  banish  folly  and  luxury,  cor- 
rect vice  and  immorality,  and  stand  immovable  in  the  freedom  in  which 
we  are  free  indeed,  is  eminently  the  duty  of  each  individual,  at  this 
day.  When  this  is  done,  we  may  rationally  hope  for  an  answer  to  our 
prayers ;  for  the  whole  counsel  of  God,  and  the  invincible  armor  of  the 
Almighty. 

However  righteous  our  cause,  we  cannot,  in  this  period  of  the  world, 
expect  a  miraculous  salvation.  Heaven  will  undoubtedly  assist  us,  if 
we  act  like  men ;  but  to  expect  protection  from  above,  while  we  are 
enervated  by  luxury,  and  slothful  in  the  exertion  of  those  abilities  with 
which  we  are  endued,  is  an  expectation  vain  and  foolish.  With  the  smiles 
of  Heaven,  virtue,  unanimity,  and  firmness  will  insure  success.  While 
we  have  equity,  justice,  and  God  on  our  side,  tyranny,  spiritual  or  tem- 
poral, shall  never  ride  triumphant  in  a  land  inhabited  by  Englishmen. 

From  "  Boston  Gazette,"  1768. 


ADDRESS  TO  A  JURY. 

JOSIAH  QUINCT,  JR. 

GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  JURY  : — This  cause  has  taken  up  much  of  your 
time,  and  is  likely  to  take  up  so  much  more,  that  I  must  hasten  to  a 
close.  Indeed,  I  should  not  have  troubled  you,  by  being  thus  lengthy, 
but  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  the  prisoners ;  they,  who,  in  some  sense, 
may  be  said  to  have  put  their  lives  in  my  hands  ;  they,  whose  situation 
was  so  peculiar,  that  we  have  necessarily  taken  up  more  time  than  ordi- 
nary cases  require.  They,  under  all  these  circumstances,  placed  a 
confidence  it  was  my  duty  not  to  disappoint ;  and  which  I  have  aimed 
at  discharging  with  fidelity.  I  trust  you,  gentlemen,  will  do  the  like  ; 
that  you  will  examine  and  judge  with  a  becoming  temper  of  mind ; 
remembering  that  they  who  are  under  oath  to  declare  the  whole  truth, 
think  and  act  very  differently  from  by-standers,  who,  being  under  no 
ties  of  this  kind,  take  a  latitude,  which  is  by  no  means  admissible  in  a 
court  of  law. 

I  cannot  close  this  cause  better,  than  by  desiring  you  to  consider 
well  the  genius  and  spirit  of  the  law,  which  will  be  laid  down,  and  to 
govern  yourselves  by  this  great  standard  of  truth.  To  some  purposes, 
you  may  be  said,  gentlemen,  to  be  ministers  of  justice;  and  "  ministers/' 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  137 

says  a  learned  judge,  "appointed  for  the  ends  of  public  justice,  should 
have  written  on  their  hearts  the  solemn  engagements  of  his  majesty, 
at  his  coronation,  to  cause  law  and  justice  in  mercy  to  be  executed  in 
Jill  his  judgments." 

"  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained  ; 
It  droppeth  like  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven-^ 

It  is  twice  blessed ; 
It  blesses  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes." 

I  leave  you,  gentlemen,  hoping  you  will  be  directed  in  your  inquiry 
and  judgment,  to  a  right  discharge  of  your  duty.  We  shall  all  of  us, 
gentlemen,  have  an  hour  of  cool  reflection ;  when  the  feelings  and 
agitations  of  the  day  shall  have  subsided ;  when  we  shall  view  things 
through  a  different  and  a  much  juster  medium.  It  is  then  we  all  wish 
an  absolving  conscience.  May  you,  gentlemen,  now  act  such  a  part,  as 
will  hereafter  insure  it ;  such  a  part  as  may  occasion  the  prisoners  to 
rejoice.  May  the  blessing  of  those  who  were  in  jeopardy  of  life  come 
upon  you — may  the  blessing  of  Him  who  is  "  not  faulty  to  die/'  descend 
and  rest  upon  you  and  your  posterity. 

From  "  Defence  of  the  Soldiers  in  the  Boston  Massacre,"  1770. 


A   STABLE   GOVEENMEKT   FOE  AMEEICA. 

BENJAMIN  RUSH. 

LOOK  at  the  steps  by  which  governments  have  been  changed,  or 
rendered  stable  in  Europe.  Read  the  history  of  Great  Britain.  Her 
boasted  government  has  risen  out  of  wars,  and  rebellions,  that  lasted 
above  six  hundred  years.  The  United  States  are  travelling  peaceably 
into  order  and  good  government.  They  know  no  strife — but  what 
arises  from  the  collision  of  opinions ;  and,  in  three  years,  they  have 
advanced  further  in  the  road  to  stability  and  happiness  than  most  of 
the  nations  in  Europe  have  done  in  as  many  centuries. 

There  is  but  one  path  that  can  lead  the  United  States  to  destruction  ; 
and  that  is,  their  extent  of  territory.  It  was  probably  to  effect  this 
that  Great  Britain  ceded  to  us  so  much  waste  land.  But  even  this  path 
may  be  avoided.  Let  but  one  new  state  be  exposed  to  sale  at  a  time ; 
ind  let  the  land  office  be  shut  up  till  every  part  of  this  new  state  be 
settled. 

I  am  extremely  sorry  to  find  a  passion  for  retirement  so  universal 
among  the  patriots  and  heroes  of  the  war.  They  resemble  skilful 
mariners,  who,  after  exerting  themselves  to  preserve  a  ship  from  sink- 
ing in  a  storm,  in  the  middle  of  the  ocean,  drop  asleep,  as  soon  as  the 
waves  subside,  and  leave  the  care  of  their  lives  and  property,  during 
the  remainder  of  the  voyage,  to  sailors,  without  knowledge  or  expe- 
12* 


138  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

rience.  Every  man  in  a  republic  is  public  property.  His  time  and 
talents — his  youth — his  manhood — his  old  age — nay  more,  his  life,  his 
all,  belong  to  his  country. 

Patriots  of  1774,  1775,  1776— heroes  of  1778,  1779,  1780!  come  for- 
ward !  your  country  demands  your  services  !  Philosophers  and  friends 
to  mankind,  come  forward  !  your  country  demands  your  studies  and 
speculations !  Lovers  of  peace  and  order,  who  declined  taking  part  in 
the  late  war,  come  forward  !  your  country  forgives  your  timidity,  and 
demands  your  influence  and  advice !  Hear  her  proclaiming,  in  sighs 
and  groans,  in  her  governments,  in  her  finances,  in  her  trade,  in  her 
manufactures,  in  her  morals,  and  in  her  manners — "  THE  REVOLUTION 
is  NOT  OVER  I" 

From  "  Address  to  the  People"  1787.  ' 


WASHINGTON". 

HENRY  LEE. 

FIRST  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen, 
he  was  second  to  none  in  the  humble  and  endearing  scenes  of  private 
life.  Pious,  just,  humane,  temperate,  and  sincere ;  uniform,  dignified, 
and  commanding,  his  example  was  as  edifying  to  all  around  him  as 
were  the  effects  of  that  example  lasting. 

To  his  equals  he  was  condescending  ;  to  his  inferiors  kind ;  and  to 
the  dear  object  of  his  affections  exemplarily  tender.  Correct  through- 
out, vice  shuddered  in  his  presence,  and  virtue  always  felt  his  fostering 
hand;  the  purity  of  his  private  character  gave  effulgence  to  his  public 
virtues. 

His  last  scene  comported  with  the  whole  tenor  of  his  life :  although 
in  extreme  pain,  not  a  sigh,  not  a  groan  escaped  him  ;  and  with  undis- 
turbed serenity  he  closed  his  well-spent  life.  Such  was  the  man 
America  has  lost !  Such  was  the  man  for  whom  our  nation  mourns  ! 

Methinks  I  see  his  august  image,  and  hear,  falling  from  his  venerable 
lips,  these  deep-sinking  words : 

"  Cease,  sons  of  America,  lamenting  our  separation  :  go  on,  and  con- 
firm by  your  wisdom  the  fruits  of  our  joint  counsels,  joint  efforts,  and 
common  dangers.  Reverence  religion;  diffuse  knowledge  throughout 
your  land;  patronize  the  arts  and  sciences;  let  liberty  and  order  be 
inseparable  companions ;  control  party  spirit,  the  bane  of  free  govern- 
ment ;  observe  good  faith  to,  and  cultivate  peace  with  all  nations ;  shut 
up  every  avenue  to  foreign  influence ;  contract  rather  than  extend 
national  connection  ;  rely  on  yourselves  only ;  be  American  in  thought 
and  deed.  Thus  will  you  give  immortality  to  that  Union,  which  was 
the  constant  object  of  my  terrestrial  labors.  Thus  will  you  preserve, 
undisturbed  to  the  latest  posterity,  the  felicity  of  a  people  to  me  most 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  139 

dear:  and  thua  will  you  supply  (if  ray  happiness  is  now  aught  to  you) 
the  only  vacancy  in  the  round  of  pure  bliss  high  Heaven  bestows." 

From  "  Eulogy  on  Washington,"  1799. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS   TO   ENGLAND. 

JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

I  ACKNOWLEDGE  the  influence  of  a  Shakspeare  and  a  Milton  upon  my 
imagination,  of  a  Locke  upon  my  understanding,  of  a  Sidney  upon  my 
political  principles,  of  a  Chatham  upon  qualities  which,  would  to  God, 
I  possessed  in  common  with  that  illustrious  man  !  of  a  Tillotson,  a 
Sherlock,  and  a  Porteus  upon  my  religion.  This  is  a  British  influence 
which  I  can  never  shake  off.  I  allow  much  to  the  just  and  honest 
prejudices  growing  out  of  the  Revolution.  But  by  whom  have  they 
been  suppressed,  when  they  ran  counter  to  the  interests  of  my  country  ? 
By  Washington.  By  whom,  would  you  listen  to  them,  are  they  most 
keenly  felt  ?  By  felons  escaped  from  the  jails  of  Paris,  Newgate,  and 
Kilmainham,  since  the  breaking  out  of  the  French  revolution ;  who,  in 
this  abused  and  insulted  country,  have  set  up  for  political  teachers,  and 
whose  disciples  give  no  other  proof  of  their  progress  in  republicanism, 
except  a  blind  devotion  to  the  most  ruthless  military  despotism  that  the 
world  ever  saw.  These  are  the  patriots  who  scruple  not  to  brand  with 
the  epithet  of  tory,  the  men  (looking  towards  the  seat  of  Col.  Stewart) 
by  whose  blood  your  liberties  have  been  cemented.  These  are  they,  who 
hold  in  such  keen  remembrance  the  outrages  of  the  British  armies,  from 
which  many  of  them  are  deserters.  Ask  these  self-styled  patriots  where 
they  were  during  the  American  war  (for  they  are,  for  the  most  part, 
old  enough  to  have  borne  arms),  and  you  strike  them  dumb ;  their  lips 
are  closed  in  eternal  silence.  If  it  were  allowable  to  entertain  partiali- 
ties, every  consideration  of  blood,  language,  religion,  and  interest,  would 
incline  us  towards  England  ;  and  yet,  shall  they  be  alone  extended  to 
France  and  her  ruler,  whom  we  are  bound  to  believe  a  chastening  God, 
suffers  as  the  Scourge  of  a  guilty  world  !  On  all  other  nations  he  tram- 
ples ;  he  holds  them  in  contempt ;  England  alone  he  hates ;  he  would, 
but  he  cannot  despise  her ;  fear  cannot  despise  ;  and  shall  we  disparage 

jar  ancestors? 

From  "Speech  on  the  Increase  of  the  Army."  1811. 


THE   INJURIES    OF   ENGLAND. 

JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

BUT  the  outrages  and  injuries  of  England — bred  up  in  the  principles 
of  the  revolution,  I  can  never  palliate,  much  less  defend  them.  I  well 
remember  Hying  with  my  mother,  and  her  new-born  child,  from  Arnold 


140  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

and  Phillips — and  we  were  driven  by  Tarleton  and  other  British  Pan- 
dours  from  pillar  to  post,  while  her  husband  was  fighting  the  battles 
of  his  country.  The  impression  is  indelible  on  my  memory ;  and  yet 
(like  my  worthy  old  neighbor,  who  added  seven  buckshot  to  every  cart- 
ridge at  the  battle  of  Guilford,  and  drew  a  fine  sight  at  his  man),  I 
must  be  content  to  be  called  a  tory  by  a  patriot  of  the  last  importation. 
Let  us  not  get  rid  of  one  evil  (supposing  it  possible),  at  the  expense  of 
a  greater :  "  mutatis  mutandis,"  suppose  France  in  possession  of  the 
British  naval  power — and  to  her  the  trident  must  pass,  should  England 
be  unable  to  wield  it — what  would  be  your  condition  ?  What  would  be 
the  situation  of  your  seaports,  and  their  seafaring  inhabitants !  Ask 
Hamburg,  Lubec  !  Ask  Savannah  !  What !  sir,  when  their  privateers 
are  pent  up  in  our  harbors  by  the  British  bull-dogs,  when  they  receive 
at  our  hands  every  rite  of  hospitality,  from  which  their  enemy  is 
excluded  ;  when  they  capture  in  our  own  waters,  interdicted  to  British 
armed  ships,  American  vessels  ;  when  such  is  their  deportment  towards 
you,  under  such  circumstances ;  what  could  you  expect  if  they  were 
the  uncontrolled  lords  of  the  ocean  ?  Had  those  privateers  at  Savannah 
borne  British  commissions ;  or  had  your  shipments  of  cotton,  tobacco, 
ashes  and  what  not,  to  London  and  Liverpool,  been  confiscated,  and  the 
proceeds  poured  into  the  English  Exchequer — my  life  upon  it,  you 
would  never  have  listened  to  any  miserable  wire-drawn  distinctions 
between  "  orders  and  decrees  affecting  our  neutral  rights,"  and  "  muni- 
cipal decrees,"  confiscating  in  mass  your  whole  property :  you  would 
have  had  instant  war !  The  whole  land  would  have  blazed  out  in  war. 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Increase  of  the  Army,"  1811. 


THE  CHARACTEK  OF  LAFAYETTE; 

JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 

LAFAYETTE  discovered  no  new  principle  of  politics  or  of  morals.  He 
invented  nothing  in  science.  He  disclosed  no  new  phenomenon  in  the 
laws  of  nature.  Born  and  educated  in  the  highest  order  of  feudal 
nobility,  under  the  most  absolute  monarchy  of  Europe,  in  possession 
of  an  affluent  fortune,  and  master  of  himself  and  of  all  his  capabilities 
at  the  moment  of  attaining  manhood,  the  principle  of  republican  justice 
and  of  social  equality  took  possession  of  his  heart  and  mind,  as  if  by 
inspiration  from  above.  He  devoted  himself,  his-  life,  his  fortune,  his 
hereditary  honors,  his  towering  ambition,  his  splendid  hopes,  all  to  the 
cause  of  liberty.  He  came  to  another  hemisphere  to  defend  her.  He 
became  one  of  the  most  effective  champions  of  our  Independence ;  but, 
that  once  achieved,  he  returned  to  his  own  country,  and  thenceforward 
took  no  part  in  the  controversies  which  have  divided  us.  In  the  events 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  141 

of  our  Revolution,  and  in  the  forms  of  policy  which  we  have  adopted 
for  the  establishment  and  perpetuation  of  our  freedom,  Lafayette  found 
the  most  perfect  form  of  government.  He  wished  to  add  nothing  to  it. 
He  would  gladly  have  abstracted  nothing  from  it.  Instead  of  the 
imaginary  Republic  of  Plato,  or  the  Utopia  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  he 
took  a  practical  existing  model,  in  actual  operation  here,  and  never 
attempted  or  wished  more  than  to  apply  it  faithfully  to  his  own  country. 
It  was  not  given  to  Moses  to  enter  the  promised  land ;  but  he  saw  it 
from  the  summit  of  Pisgah.  It  was  not  given  to  Lafayette  to  witness 
the  consummation  of  his  wishes  in  the  establishment  of  a  Republic,  and 
the  extinction  of  all  hereditary  rule  in  France.  His  principles  were  in 
advance  of  the  age  and  hemisphere  in  which  he  lived.  A  Bourbon  still 
reigns  on  the  throne  of  France,  and  it  is  not  for  us  to  scrutinize  the 
title  by  which  he  reigns.  The  principles  of  elective  and  hereditary 
power,  blended  in  reluctant  union  in  his  person,  like  the  red  and  white 
roses  of  York  and  Lancaster,  may  postpone  to  aftertime  the  last  conflict 
to  which  they  must  ultimately  come.  The  life  of  the  Patriarch  was 
not  long  enough  for  the  development  of  his  whole  political  system.  Its 
final  accomplishment  is  in  the  womb  of  time. 

From  "  Address  before  Congress,"  1834. 


THE  FUTURE  GLORY  OF  AMERICA. 

DAVID  RAMSAY. 

WHEN  I  anticipate  in  imagination  the  future  glory  of  my  country, 
and  the  illustrious  figure  it  will  soon  make  on  the  theatre  of  the  world, 
my  heart  distends  with  generous  pride  for  being  an  American.  What 
a  substratum  for  empire !  compared  with  which,  the  foundation  of  the 
Macedonian,  the  Roman,  and  the  British  sink  into  insignificance. 
Some  of  our  large  states  have  territory  superior  to  the  island  of  Great 
Britain,  whilst  the  whole  together  are  little  inferior  to  Europe  itself. 
Our  independence  will  people  this  extent  of  country  with  freemen,  and 
will  stimulate  the  innumerable  inhabitants  thereof,  by  every  motive,  to 
perfect  the  acts  of  government,  and  to  extend  human  happiness. 

I  congratulate  you  on  our  glorious  prospects.  Having  for  three  long 
years  weathered  the  storms  of  adversity,  we  are  at  length  arrived  in 
view  of  the  calm  haven  of  peace  and  security.  We  have  laid  the  foun- 
dations of  a  new  empire,  which  promises  to  enlarge  itself  to  vast 
dimensions,  and  to  give  happiness  to  a  great  continent.  It  is  now  our 
turn  to  figure  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  in  the  annals  of  the  world. 
The  arts  and  sciences  are  planted  among  us,  and,  fostered  by  the  auspi- 
cious influence  of  equal  governments,  are  growing  up  to  maturity, 
while  truth  and  freedom  flourish  by  their  sides.  Liberty,  both  civil 


II-  i  in.     i  1.1.1  i    IOADBMX4    IFIAS  II 

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144  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   CONGRESS   OF   1776. 

WILLIAM  WIRT. 

WHAT  was  the  state  of  things  under  which  the  Congress  of  1776 
assembled,  when  Adams  and  Jefferson  again  met?  It  was,  as  you 
know,  in  this  Congress,  that  the  question  of  American  Independence 
came,  for  the  first  time,  to  be  discussed ;  and  never,  certainly,  has  a 
more  momentous  question  been  discussed,  in  any  age  or  in  any  country, 
for  it  was  fraught,  not  only  with  the  destinies  of  this  wide-extended 
continent,  but,  as  the  event  has  shown,  and  is  still  showing,  with  the 
destinies  of  man  all  over  the  world. 

How  fearful  that  question  then  was,  no  one  can  tell  but  those  who, 
forgetting  all  that  has  since  past,  can  transport  themselves  back  to  the 
time,  and  plant  their  feet  on  the  ground  which  those  patriots  then 
occupied.  "  Shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness"  then  covered  all  the 
future,  and  the  present  was  full  only  of  danger  and  terror.  A  more 
unequal  contest  never  was  proposed.  It  was,  indeed,  as  it  was  then 
said  to  be,  the  shepherd  boy  of  Israel  going  forth  to  battle  against  the 
giant  of  Ga'th  ;  and  there  were  yet  among  us,  enough  to  tremble  when 
they  heard  that  giant  say,  "  Come  to  me,  and  I  will  give  thy  flesh  to 
the  fowls  of  the  air  and  the  beasts  of  the  field."  But  there  were  those 
who  never  trembled — who  knew  that  there  was  a  God  in  Israel,  and 
who  were  willing  to  commit  their  cause  "to  his  even-handed  justice," 
and  his  almighty  power.  That  their  great  trust  was  in  Him,  is  mani- 
fest from  the  remarks  that  were  continually  breaking  from  the  lips  of 
the  patriots.  Thus,  the  patriot  Hawley,  when  pressed  upon  the  ine- 
quality of  the  contest,  could  only  answer,  "We  must  put  to  sea — 
Providence  will  bring  us  into  port ;"  and  Patrick  Henry,  when  urged 
upon  the  same  topic,  exclaimed,  "  True,  true ;  but  there  is  a  God  above, 
who  rules  and  overrules  the  destinies  of  nations." 

From  "  Eulogy  on  Jefferson  and  Adams,"  1826. 


ADDRESS   TO   A  JURY. 

DAVID  PAUL  BROWN. 

THE  prisoner  is  in  your  hands,  I  ask  no  mercy  for  him.  I  had  almost 
said  I  disdain  it: — but  be  merci'ful  to  yourselves.  By  his  conviction,  it 
is  true  you  abridge  his  sufferings,  but  may  you  not  promote  and  aggra- 
vate your  own.  Can  you  reflect  upon  such  a  verdict,  without  being 
hereafter  haunted  by  the  "  compunctious  visitings  of  conscience."  If 
you  think  you  can,  why  strike  at  once  his  unit  out  of  the  sum  of  life. 
And  when,  after  your  labors  are  terminated,  you  return  again  to  your 
firesides  to  enjoy  the  charms  of  your  domestic  circle — the  blessings  of 
your  household  gods,  then  tell  your  anxious  wives  and  children,  who 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  145 

assemble  around  you,  while  you  relate  the  lamentable  history  of  this 
trial — tell  them  of  "  one  who  loved  not  wisely — but  too  well ;"  tell 
them  of  the  pollution  of  female  innocence — the  betrayal  of  confiding 
friendship — tell  them  of  the  prisoner's  blighted  hopes — his  wounded 
honor — his  ruined  fortunes  and  his  shattered  reason — tell  them  how  he 
trusted,  and  how  he  was  deceived  ;  and  when  your  hearers,  with  tear- 
ful eyes  and  trembling  lips,  earnestly  inquire  what  relief  you  afforded 
for  all  these  monstrous  and  most  unheard  of  wrongs — tell  them — if  you 
dare,  that,  to  requite  him  for  all  these  sufferings,  for  these  shames,  YOU  ! 

you  !  ! — CONSIGNED  HIM  TO  A  FELON'S  IGNOMINIOUS  GRAVE. 

From  "  A  Forensic  Argument,"  Philadelphia,  1859. 


THE   BANNEK   OF   UNION. 

FRANKLIN  PIERCE. 

IF  we  are  true  to  ourselves ;  if  we  revere  the  memory,  or  appreciate 
the  services  of  our  fathers,  we  shall  forget,  in  the  exigency  of  this 
crisis,  that  there  is,  or  ever  has  been,  such  thing  as  party,  in  the  ordi- 
nary acceptation  of  the  term.  At  all  events,  we  will  forget  it,  until, 
through  our  steady,  united  efforts,  we  see  the  authority  of  the  Constitu- 
tion vindicated,  and  the  Union  reposing  again  securely  upon  its  old 
foundations. 

You  are  right  in  assuming  that  this  is  no  time  for  hesitancy  ;  no  time 
for  doubting,  halting,  half-way  professions,  or,  indeed,  for  mere  profes- 
sions of  any  kind.  It  is  a  time  for  resolute  purpose,  to  be  followed  by 
decisive,  consistent  action. 

Shall  the  fundamental  law  of  the  land  be  obeyed,  not  with  evasive 
reluctance,  but  in  good  fidelity  ?  Have  we  the  power  to  enforce  obedi- 
ence to  it,  and  will  we  exercise  that  power  ?  If  so,  then  may  we  con- 
tinue to  enjoy  the  multiplied  and  multiplying  blessings  of  the  peerless 
inheritance  which  has  been  transmitted  to  us.  If  otherwise,  fanaticism 
has  not  mistaken  the  significance  of  its  emblem, — the  national  flag  with 
"  the  union  down."  That  flag  has  waved  through  three  foreign  wars, 
with  the  union  up,  cheering  the  hearts  of  brave  men,  on  sea  and  land, 
wherever  its  folds  have  unrolled  in  the  smoke  of  battle !  How  many 
of  our  countrymen,  as  they  have  seen  it  floating  from  the  mast-head  in 
a  foreign  port,  or  giving  its  ample  sweep  to  the  breeze  over  a  consular- 
office,  have  proudly  and  exultingly  exclaimed :  "I  am  an  American 
citizen,  and  there  is  the  ensign  which  commands  for  me  respect  and 
security,  wherever  throughout  the  wide  world  I  may  roam,  or  wherever 
I  may  choose  temporarily  to  dwell !"  How  one  would  shut  his  eyes, 
and  cover  his  face  in  shame  and  sorrow,  if  he  believed  he  were  destined 
to  see  the  day  when  that  flag  will  float  no  more  !  And  yet  if  agitators 
13  R 


146          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

and  conspirators  can  have  their  way,  it  must  go  down  in  darkness  and 
blood.  In  a  republic  like  ours,  law  alone  upholds  it ;  and  when  that 
loses  its  power,  all  human  power  to  save  is  lost.  If  such  overwhelm- 
ing disaster  to  humanity  is  to  overtake  us,  I,  for  one,  will  not  try  to 
peer  through  the  darkness  and  blackness,  or  to  foreknow  the  end. 

From  "  Letter  read  at  Faneuil  Hall  Meeting,"  1859. 


AMERICAN   POLICY. 

DE  WITT  CLINTON. 

IF  I  were  called  upon  to  prescribe  a  course  of  policy  most  important 
for  this  country  to  pursue,  it  would  be  to  avoid  European  connections 
and  wars.  The  time  must  arrive  when  we  will  have  to  contend  with 
some  of  the  great  powers  of  Europe,  but  let  that  period  be  put  off  as 
long  as  possible.  It  is  our  interest  and  our  duty  to  cultivate  peace, 
with  sincerity  and  good  faith.  As  a  young  nation,  pursuing  industry 
in  every  channel,  and  adventuring  commerce  in  every  sea,  it  is  highly 
important  that  we  should  not  only  have  a  pacific  character,  but  that 
we  should  really  deserve  it.  If  we  manifest  an  unwarrantable  ambition, 
and  a  rage  for  conquest,  we  unite  all  the  great  powers  of  Europe  against 
us.  The  security  of  all  the  European  possessions  in  our  vicinity,  will 
eternally  depend,  not  upon  their  strength,  but  upon  our  moderation 
and  justice.  Look  at  the  Canadas ;  at  the  Spanish  territories  to  the 
south ;  at  the  British,  Spanish,  French,  Danish,  and  Dutch  West  India 
Islands,  at  the  vast  countries  to  the  west,  as  far  as  where  the  Pacific 
rolls  its  waves.  Consider  well  the  eventful  consequences  that  would 
result,  if  we  were  possessed  by  a  spirit  of  conquest.  Consider  well  the 
impression  which  a  manifestation  of  that  spirit  will  make  upon  those 
who  would  be  affected  by  it.  If  we  are  to  rush  at  once  into  the  territory 
of  a  neighboring  nation,  with  fire  and  sword,  for  the  misconduct  of  a 
subordinate  officer,  will  not  our  national  character  be  greatly  injured  ? 
Will  we  not  be  classed  with  the  robbers  and  destroyers  of  mankind  ? 
Will  not  the  nations  of  Europe  perceive  in  this  conduct  the  germ  of  a 
lofty  spirit,  and  an  enterprising  ambition,  which  will  level  them  to  the 
earth^  when  age  has  matured  our  strength,  and  expanded  our  powers 
of  annoyance,  unless  they  combine  to  cripple  us  in  our  infancy  ?  May 
not  the  consequences  be,  that  we  must  look  out  for  a  naval  force  to 
protect  our  commerce,  that  a  close  alliance  will  result,  that  we  will  be 
thrown  at  once  into  the  ocean  of  European  politics,  where  every  wave 
that  rolls,  and  every  wind  that  blows,  will  agitate  our  bark  ?  Is  this  a 
desirable  state  of  things  ?  Will  the  people  of  this  country  be  seduced 
into  it  by  all  the  colorings  of  rhetoric,  and  all  the  arts  of  sophistry — by 
vehement  appeals  to  their  pride,  and  artful  addresses  to  their  cupidity? 
No,  sir.  Three-fourths  of  the  American  people,  I  assert  it  boldly  and 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  147 

without  fear  of  contradiction,  are  opposed  to  this  measure.  And  would 
you  take  up  arms  with  a  mill-stone  hanging  round  your  neck  ?  How 
would  you  bear  up,  not  only  against  the  force  of  the  enemy,  but  against 
the  irresistible  current  of  public  opinion  ?  The  thing,  sir,  is  impossible  ; 
the  measure  is  worse  than  madness ;  it  is  wicked,  beyond  the  powers 
of  description. 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Navigation  of  the  Mississippi,'"  1803. 


THE   VALUE   OF   A  NAVY. 

JAMES  A.  BAYARD. 

GOD  has  decided  that  the  people  of  this  country  should  be  a  commer- 
cial people.  You  read  that  decree  in  the  sea-coast  of  seventeen  hundred 
miles  which  he  has  given  you  ;  in  the  numerous  navigable  waters  which 
penetrate  the  interior  of  the  country ;  in  the  various  ports  and  harbors 
scattered  along  your  shores  ;  in  your  fisheries  ;  in  the  redundant  pro- 
ductions of  your  soil ;  and  more  than  all,  in  the  enterprising  and 
adventurous  spirit  of  your  people.  It  is  no  more  a  question  whether 
the  people  of  this  country  shall  be  allowed  to  plough  the  ocean,  than  it  is 
whether  they  shall  be  permitted  to  plough  the  land.  It  is  not  in  the 
power  of  this  government,  nor  would  it  be  if  it  were  as  strong  as  the 
most  despotic  upon  the  earth,  to  subdue  the  commercial  spirit,  or  to 
destroy  the  commercial  habits  of  the  country. 

Young  as  we  are,  our  tonnage  and  commerce  surpass  those  of  every 
nation  upon  the  globe  but  one,  and  if  not  wasted  by  the  deprivations  to 
which  they  were  exposed  by  their  defenceless  situation,  and  the  more 
ruinous  restrictions  to  which  this  government  subjected  them,  it  would 
require  not  many  more  years  to  have  made  them  the  greatest  in  the 
world.  Is  this  immense  wealth  always  to  be  exposed  as  a  prey  to  the 
rapacity  of  freebooters  ?  Why  will  you  protect  your  citizens  and  their 
property  upon  land,  and  leave  them  defenceless  upon  the  ocean  ?  As 
your  mercantile  property  increases,  the  prize  becomes  more  tempting 
to  the  cupidity  of  foreign  nations.  In  the  course  of  things,  the  ruins 
and  aggressions  which  you  have  experienced  will  multiply,  nor  will 
they  be  restrained  while  we  have  no  appearance  of  a  naval  force. 

You  must  and  will  have  a  navy ;  but  it  is  not  to  be  created  in  a  day, 
nor  is  it  to  be  expected,  that  in  its  infancy,  it  will  be  able  to  cope  foot 
to  foot  with  the  full-grown  vigor  of  the  navy  of  England.  But  we  are 
even  now  capable  of  maintaining  a  naval  force  formidable  enough  to 
threaten  the  British  commerce,  and  to  render  this  nation  an  object  of 
more  respect  and  consideration. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  United  States  Senate,"  1810. 


148  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

WAB  IN  SELF-DEFENCE. 

JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

FOR  my  part,  I  never  will  go  to  war  but  in  self-defence.  I  have  no 
desire  for  conquests — no  ambition  to  possess  Nova  Scotia — I  hold  the 
liberties  of  this  people  at  a  higher  rate.  Much  more  am  I  indisposed 
to  war,  when  among  the  first  means  for  carrying  it  on,  I  see  gentlemen 
propose  the  confiscation  of  debts  due  by  government  to  individuals. 
Does  a  bonafide  creditor  know  who  holds  his  paper?  Dare  any  honest 
man  ask  himself  the  question  ?  ;Tis  hard  to  say  whether  such  prin- 
ciples are  more  detestably  dishonest,  than  they  are  weak  and  foolish: 
What,  sir ;  will  you  go  about  with  proposals  for  opening  a  loan  in  one 
hand,  and  a  sponge  for  the  national  debt  in  the  other  ?  If,  on  a  late 
occasion,  you  could  not  borrow  at  a  less  rate  of  interest  than  eight  per 
cent.,  when  the  government  avowed  that  they  would  pay  to  the  last 
shilling  of  the  public  ability,  at  what  price  do  you  expect  to  raise 
money  with  an  avowal  of  these  nefarious  opinions  ? — God  help  you  !  if 
these  are  your  ways  and  means  for  carrying  on  war — if  your  finances 
are  in  the  hands  of  such  a  chancellor  of  the  exchequer.  Because  a 
man  can  take  an  observation,  and  keep  a  log-book  and  a  reckoning ; 
can  navigate  a  cock-boat  to  the  West  Indies,  or  the  East ;  shall  he 
aspire  to  navigate  the  great  vessel  of  state — to  stand  at  the  helm  of 
public  councils  ?  "  Ne  sutor  ultra  crepidam."  What  are  you  going  to 
war  for  ?  For  the  carrying  trade.  Already  you  possess  seven-eighths 
of  it.  What  is  the  object  in  dispute?  The  fair,  honest  trade,  that 
exchanges  the  produce  of  our  soil  for  foreign  articles  for  home  con- 
sumption ?  Not  at  all. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  House  of  Representatives,"  1806. 


THE  EXCISE   SYSTEM. 

JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

THESE  taxes,  however,  it  seems,  are  voluntary,  "  as  being  altogether 
upon  consumption."  By  a  recent  speech  on  this  subject,  the  greater 
part  of  which  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  hear,  I  learn  that  there  have 
been  only  two  hundred  capital  prosecutions  in  England,  within  a  given 
time,  for  violations  of  the  revenue  laws.  Are  we  ready,  if  one  of  us, 
too  poor  to  own  a  saddle-horse,  should  borrow  a  saddle,  and  clap  it  on 
his  plough-horse,  to  ride  to  church  or  court,  or  mill,  or  market,  to  be 
taxed  for  a  surplus  saddle-horse,  and  surcharged  for  having  failed  to 
list  him  as  such  ?  Are  gentlemen  aware  of  the  inquisitorial,  dispens- 
ing, arbitrary,  and  almost  papal  power  of  the  commissioners  of  excise? 
I  shall  not  stop  to  go  into  a  detail  of  them  ;  but  I  never  did  expect  to 
hear  it  said,  on  this  floor,  and  by  a  gentleman  from  Kentucky  too,  that 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  149 

the  excise  system  was  a  mere  scare-crow,  a  bug-bear ;  that  the  sound 
of  the  words  constituted  all  the  difference  between  a  system  of  excise 
and  a  system  of  customs;  that  both  meant  the  same  thing:  "Write 
them  together ;  yours  is  as  fair  a  name  ;  sound  them  ;  it  doth  become 
the  mouth  as  well;"  here,  sir,  I  must  beg  leave  to  differ;  I  do  not 
think  it  does :  "  Weigh  them  ;  it  is  as  heavy  ;"  that  I  grant — "  conjure 
with  them  ;" — excise  "  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as"  customs.  This  I 
verily  believe,  sir,  and  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  if  this  bill  is  to  pass, 
if  new  and  unnecessary  burdens  are  to  be  wantonly  imposed  upon  the 
people,  that  we  were  to  return  home  with  the  blessed  news  of  a  tax  or 
excise,  not  less  by  way  of  "  minimum,"  than  fifty  cents  per  gallon  upon 
whiskey.  And  here,  if  I  did  not  consider  an  exciseman  to  bear,  accord- 
ing to  the  language  of  the  old  law  books,  "  caput  lupinum,"  and  that 
it  was  almost  as  meritorious  to  shoot  such  a  hell-hound  of  tyranny,  as 
to  shoot  a  wolf  or  a  mad-dog ;  and  if  I  did  not  know  that  anything  like 
an  excise  in  this  country  is  in  effect  utterly  impracticable, — I  myself, 
feeling,  seeing,  blushing  for  my  country,  would  gladly  vote  to  lay  an 
excise  on  this  abominable  liquor,  the  lavish  consumption  of  which 
renders  this  the  most  drunken  nation  under  the  sun ;  and  yet  we  have 
refused  to  take  the  duties  from  wines,  from  cheap  French  wines  par- 
ticularly, that  might  lure  the  dog  from  his  vomit,  and  lay  the  founda- 
tion of  a  reformation  of  the  public  manners. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  House  of  Representatives,"  1824. 


THE    EXCISE   SYSTEM   IMPOSSIBLE   IN  AMEEICA. 

JOHN  RANDOLPH. 

SIR,  an  excise  system  can  never  be  maintained  in  this  country. 
I  had  as  lief  be  a  tithe  proctor  in  Ireland,  and  met  on  a  dark  night 
in  a  narrow  road  by  a  dozen  White-boys,  or  Peep-of-day  Boys,  or 
Hearts  of  Oak,  or  Hearts  of  Steel,  as  an  excise  man  in  the  Alleghany 
Mountains,  met  in  a  lonely  road,  or  By-place,  by  a  backwoodsman, 
with  a  rifle  in  his  hand.  With  regard  to  Ireland,  the  British  chan- 
cellor of  the  exchequer  has  been  obliged  to  reduce  the  excise  in 
Ireland  on  distilled  spirits,  to  comparatively  nothing  to  what  it  was 
formerly,  in  consequence  of  the  impossibility  of  collecting  it  in  that 
country.  Ireland  is,  not  to  speak  with  statistical  accuracy,  about 
the  size  of  Pennsylvania,  containing  something  like  twenty-five  thou- 
sand square  miles  of  territory,  with  a  population  of  six  millions  of 
inhabitants,  nearly  as  great  a  number  as  ^the  whole  of  the  white  popu- 
lation of  the  United  States ;  with  a  standing  army  of  twenty  thousand 
men ;  with  another  standing  army,  composed  of  all  those  classes  in 
civil '  life,  who,  through  the  instrumentality  of  that  army,  keep  the 


150  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

wretched  people  in  subjection :  under  all  these  circumstances,  even  in 
Ireland,  the  excise  cannot  be  collected.  I  venture  to  say  that  no  army 
that  the  earth  has  ever  seen ;  not  such  a  one  as  that  of  Bonaparte, 
which  marched  to  the  invasion  of  Russia,  would  be  capable  of  collect- 
ing an  excise  in  this  country ;  not  such  a  one  (if  you  will  allow  me  to 
give  some  delightful  poetry  in  exchange  for  very  wretched  prose)  as 
Milton  has  described — 

"  Such  forces  met  not,  nor  so  wide  a  camp, 
When  Agrican,  with  all  his  northern  powers, 
Besieged  Albracca,  as  romances  tell, 
The  city  of  Calliphrone,  from  whence  to  win 
The  fairest  of  her  sex,  Angelica, 
His  daughter,  sought  by  many  prowest  knights, 
Both  Paynim  and  the  peers  of  Charlemagne ;" 

not  such  a  force,  nor  even  the  troops  with  which  he  compares  them, 
which  were  no  less  than  "  the  legend  fiends  of  hell,"  could  collect  an 
excise  here.  If  any  officer  of  our  government  were  to  take  the  field  a 
still-hunting,  as  they-call  it  in  Ireland,  among  our  southern  or  western 
forests  and  mountains,  I  should  like  to  see  the  throwing  off  of  the 
hounds.  I  have  still  so  much  of  the  sportsman  about  me,  that  I  should 
like  to  see  the  breaking  cover,  and,  above  all,  I  should  like  to  be  in  at 
the  death. 

From  " Speech  in  the  House  of  Representatives"  1824. 


AMEKICAN   VALOK. 

LEWIS  CASS. 

THERE  is  one  point,  sir,  where  we  can  all  meet,  and  that  is  the  gal- 
lantry and  good  conduct  of  our  country.  This  is  one  of  the  high 
places  to  which  we  can  come  up  together,  and  laying  aside  our  party 
dissension,  mingle  our  congratulations  that  our  country  has  had  such 
sons  to  go  forth  to  battle,  and  that  they  have  gathered  such  a  harvest 
of  renown  in  distant  fields.  The  time  has  been,  and  there  are  those 
upon  this  floor  who  remember  it  well,  when  our  national  flag  was  said 
to  be  but  striped  bunting,  and  our  armed  vessels  but  fir-built  frigates. 
The  feats  of  our  army  and  navy,  in  our  last  war  with  England, 
redeemed  us  from  this  reproach,  the  offspring  of  foreign  jealousy  ;  and 
had  they  not,  the  events  of  the  present  war  would  have  changed  these 
epithets  into  terms  of  honor;  for  our  flag  has  become  a  victorious 
standard,  borne  by  marching  columns,  over  the  hills  and  valleys,  and 
through  the  cities,  and  towns,  and  fields  of  a  powerful  nation,  in  a 
career  of  success  of  which  few  examples  can  be  found  in  ancient  or 
modern  warfare. 

The  movement  of  our  army  from  Puebla  was  one  of  the  most  roman- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  151 

tic  and  remarkable  events  which  ever  occurred  in  the  military  annals 
of  any  country.  Oar  troops  did  not  indeed  burn  their  fleet,  like  the 
first  conquerors  of  Mexico,  for  they  needed  not  to  gather  courage  from 
despair,  nor  to  stimulate  their  resolution  by  destroying  all  hopes  of 
escape.  But  they  voluntarily  cut  off  all  means  of  communication  with 
their  own  country,  by  throwing  themselves  among  the  armed  thousands 
of  another,  and  advancing  with  stout  hearts  but  feeble  numbers  into 
the  midst  of  a.  hostile  country.  The  uncertainty  which  hung  over  the 
public  mind,  and  the  anxiety  everywhere  felt,  when  our  gallant  little 
army  disappeared  from  our  view,  will  not  be  forgotten  during  the  pre- 
sent generation.  There  was  universal  pause  of  expectation — hoping, 
but  still  fearing;  and  the  eyes  of  twenty  millions  of  people  were 
anxiously  fixed  upon  another  country  which  a  little  band  of  its  armed 
citizens  had  invaded.  A  veil  concealed  them  from  our  view.  They 
were  lost  to  us  for  fifty  days ;  for  that  period  elapsed  from  the  time 
when  we  heard  of  their  departure  from  Puebla  till  accounts  reached 
us  of  the  issue  of  the  movement.  The  shroud  which  enveloped  them 
gave  way,  and  we  discovered  our  glorious  flag  waving  in  the  breezes  of 
the  capital,  and  the  city  itself  invested  by  our  army. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  Senate,"  1848. 


BAEBAEOUS  WAEFAEE. 

LORD  CHATHAM. 

BUT,  my  lords,  who  is  the  man,  that  in  addition  to  these  disgraces 
and  mischiefs  of  our  army,  has  dared  to  authorize  and  associate  to  our 
arms  the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife  of  the  savage  ?  To  call  into 
civilized  alliance,  the  wild  and  inhuman  savage  of  the  woods ;  to  dele- 
gate to  the  merciless  Indian,  the  defence  of  disputed  rights,  and  to 
wage  the  horrors  of  his  barbarous  war  against  our  brethren  ?  My 
lords,  these  enormities  cry  aloud  for  redress  and  punishment.  Unless 
thoroughly  done  away,  it  will  be  a  stain  on  the  national  character.  It 
is  a  violation  of  the  constitution.  I  believe  it  is  against  law.  It  is  not 
the  least  of  our  national  misfortunes,  that  the  strength  and  character 
of  our  army  are  thus  impaired.  Infected  with  the  mercenary  spirit 
of  robbery  and  rapine ;  familiarized  to  the  horrid  scenes  of  savage 
cruelty,  it  can  no  longer  boast  of  the  noble  and  generous  principles 
which  dignify  a  soldier ;  no  longer  sympathize  with  the  dignity  of  the 
royal  banner,  nor  feel  the  pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious 
war,  "  that  make  ambition  virtue  I"  What  makes  ambition  virtue? — 
the  sense  of  honor.  But  is  the  sense  of  honor  consistent  with  a  spirit 
of  plunder,  or  the  practice  of  murder?  Can  it  flow  from  mercenary 
motives,  or  can  it  prompt  to  cruel  deeds?  Besides  these  murderers 


152  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

and  plunderers,  let  me  ask  our  ministers,  what  other  allies  have  they 
acquired  ?  What  other  powers  have  they  associated  to  their  cause  ? 
Have  they  entered  into  alliance  with  the  king  of  the  gypsies?  Nothing, 
my  lords,  is  too  low  or  too  ludicrous  to  be  consistent  with  their  coun- 
sels. 

From  "  Speech  on  Address  to  the  Throne." 


ENGLAND   AND   HER   CHILDREN. 

EDMUND  BURKE. 

A  NOBLE  lord,  who  spoke  some  time  ago,  is  full  of  the  fire  of  ingenu- 
ous youth ;  and  when  he  has  modelled  the  ideas  of  a  lively  imagination 
by  further  experience,  he  will  be  an  ornament  to  his  country  in  either 
house.  He  has  said,  that  the  Americans  are  our  children,  and  how 
can  they  revolt  against  their  parent  ?  He  says,  that  if  they  are  not 
free  in  their  present  state,  England  is  not  free  ;  because  Manchester, 
and  other  considerable  places,  are  not  represented.  So,  then,  because 
some  towns  in  England  are  not  represented,  America  is  to  have  no 
representative  at  all.  They  are  "  our  children  ;"  but  when  children 
ask  for  bread,  we  are  not  to  give  a  stone.  Is  it  because  the  natural 
resistance  of  things,  and  the  various  mutations  of  time,  hinder  our 
government,  or  any  scheme  of  government,  from  being  any  more  than 
a  sort  of  approximation  to  the  right,  is  it  therefore  that  the  colonies 
are  to  recede  from  it  infinitely  ?  When  this  child  of  ours  wishes  to 
assimilate  to  its  parent,  and  to  reflect  with  a  true  filial  resemblance  the 
beauteous  countenance  of  British  liberty ;  are  we  to  turn  to  them  the 
shameful  parts  of  our  constitution  ?  are  we  to  give  them  our  weakness 
for  their  strength?  our  opprobrium  for  their  glory  ;  and  the  slough  of 
slavery,  which  we  are  not  able  to  work  off,  to  serve  them  for  their 
freedom  ? 

From  "  Speech  on  American  Taxation." 


MILTON  AND    "  THE   AGE   OF   REASON." 

T.  ERSKINE. 

IT  is  said  by  the  author  of  the  "  Age  of  Reason,"  that  the  Christian 
fable  is  but  the  tale  of  the  more  ancient  superstitions  of  the  world,  and 
may  be  easily  detected  by  a  proper  understanding  of.  the  mythologies 
of  the  heathens. — Did  Milton  understand  those  mythologies  ? — Was 
he  less  versed  than  Mr.  Paine  in  the  superstitions  of  the  world  ?  No, 
— they  were  the  subject  of  his  immortal  song ;  and  though  shut  out 
from  all  recurrence  to  them,  he  poured  them  forth  from  the  stores  of 
a  memory  rich  with  all  that  man  ever  knew,  and  laid  them  in  their 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  153 

order  as  the  illustration  of  real  and  exalted  faith,  the  unquestionable 
source  of  that  fervid  genius  which  has  cast  a  kind  of  shade  upon  all 
the  other  .works  of  man — 

He  passed  the  bounds  of  flaming  space, 
Where  angels  tremble  while  they  gaze — 
He  saw,— till  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
He  closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 

But  it  was  the  light  of  the  BODY  only  that  was  extinguished :  "  The 
CELESTIAL  LIGHT  shone  inward,  and  enabled  him  to  justify  the  ways 
of  God  to  man." — The  result  of  his  thinking  was  nevertheless  not  quite 
the  same  as  the  author's  before  us.  The  mysterious  incarnation  of  our 
blessed  Saviour  (which  this  work  blasphemes  in  words  so  wholly  unfit 
for  the  mouth  of  a  Christian,  or  for  the  ear  of  a  court  of  justice,  that  I 
dare  not,  and  will  not,  give  them  utterance),  Milton  made  the  grand 
conclusion  of  his  Paradise  Lost,  the  rest  from  his  finished  labors,  and 
the  ultimate  hope,  expectation,  and  glory  of  the  world. 

A  Virgin  is  his  Mother,  but  his  Sire 

The  power  of  the  Most  High  ; — he  shall  ascend 

The  throne  hereditary,  and  bound  his  reign 

With  earth's  wide  bounds,  his  glory  with  the  heavens. 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Age  of  Season." 


THE  EAST  INDIAN   GOVERNMENT. 

EDMUND  BURKE. 

IN  India,  all  the  vices  operate  by  which  sudden  fortune  is  acquired ; 
in  England  are  often  displayed  by  the  same  persons,  the  virtues  which 
dispense  hereditary  wealth.  Arrived  in  England,  the  destroyers  of  the 
nobility  and  gentry  of  a  whole  kingdom  will  find  the  best  company  in 
this  nation,  at  a  board  of  elegance  and  hospitality.  Here  the  manufac- 
turer and  husbandman  will  bless  the  just  and  punctual  hand  that  in 
India  has  torn  the  cloth  from  the  loom,  or  wrested  the  scanty  portion 
of  rice  and  salt  from  the  peasant  of  Bengal,  or  wrung  from  him  the 
very  opium  in  which  he  forgot  his  oppressions  and  his  oppressor.  They 
marry  into  your  families ;  they  enter  into  your  senate  ;  they  ease  your 
estates  by  loans  ;  they  raise  their  value  by  demands  ;  they  cherish  and 
protect  your  relations,  which  lie  heavy  on  your  patronage  ;  and  there 
is  scarcely  a  house  in  the  kingdom  that  does  not  feel  some  concern  and 
interest  that  makes  all  reform  of  our  eastern  government  appear 
officious  and  disgusting;  and,  on  the  whole,  a  most  discouraging 
attempt.  In  such  an  attempt' you  hurt  those  who  are  able  to  return 
kindness,  or  to  resent  injury.  If  you  succeed,  you  save  those  who 
cannot  so  much  as  give  you  thanks.  All  these  things  show  the  diffi- 


154          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER.  x 

culty  of  the  work  we  have  on  hand :  but  they  show  its  necessity  too. 
Our  Indian  government  is,  in  its  best  state,  a  grievance.  It  is  neces- 
sary that  the  correctives  should  be  uncommonly  vigorous;  and  the 
work  of  men,  sanguine,  warm,  and  even  impassioned  in  the  cause. 
But  it  is  an  arduous  thing  to  plead  against  abuses  of  a  power  which 
originates  from  your  own  country,  and  affects  those  whom  we  are  used 

to  consider  as  strangers. 

From  «  Speech  on  Mr.  Fox's  East  India  Bill" 


FKENCH  LEGITIMACY. 

CHARLES  PHILLIPS. 

You  have  forced  upon  France  a  family  to  whom  misfortune  could 
teach  no  mercy,  or  experience  wisdom  ;  vindictive  in  prosperity,  servile 
in  defeat,  timid  in  the  field,  vacillating  in  the  cabinet ;  suspicion 
amongst  themselves,  discontent  amongst  their  followers;  their  memories 
tenacious  but  of  the  punishments  they  had  provoked  ;  their  piety  active' 
but  in  subserviency  to  their  priesthood ;  and  their  power  passive  but 
in  the  subjugation  of  their  people !  Such  are  the  dynasties  you  have  con- 
ferred on  Europe.  In  the  very  act,  that  of  enthroning  three  individuals 
of  the  same  family,  you  have  committed  in  politics  a  capital  error.  But 
Providence  has  countermined  the  ruin  you  were  preparing ;  and  whilst 
the  impolicy  prevents  the  chance,  their  impotency  precludes  the  danger 
of  a  coalition.  As  to  the  rest  of  Europe,  how  has  it  been  ameliorated? 
What  solitary  benefit  have  the  "  deliverers"  conferred  ?  They  have 
partitioned  the  states  of  the  feeble  to  feed  the  rapacity  of  the  powerful ; 
and  after  having  alternately  adored  and  deserted  Napoleon,  they  have 
wreaked  their  vengeance  on  the  noble,  but  unfortunate  fidelity  that 
spurned  their  example.  Do  you  want  proofs ;  look  to  Saxony,  look  to 
Genoa,  look  to  Norway,  but,  above  all,  to  Poland  1  that  speaking  monu- 
ment of  regal  murder  and  legitimate  robbery: 

Oh  !  bloodiest  picture  in  the  book  of  time — 
Sarmatia  fell — unwept — without  a  crime  ! 

Here  was  an  opportunity  to  recompense  that  brave,  heroic,  generous, 
martyred,  and  devoted  people  ;  here  was  an  opportunity  to  convince 
Jacobinism  that  crowns  and  crimes  were  not,  of  course,  co-existent,  and 
that  the  highway  rapacity  of  one  generation  might  be  atoned  by  the 
penitential  retribution  of  another  1 

From  "  Speech  at  Liverpool." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  155 

LAFAYETTE   IN   AMEEICA. 

THOMAS  H.  BENTON. 

THE  Duke  of  Orleans,  a  brave  general  in  the  republican  armies,  at 
the  commencement  of  the  Revolution,  was  handed  to  the  throne  by 
Lafayette,  and  became  the  "citizen  king,  surrounded  by  republican 
institutions/'  And  in  this  Lafayette  was  consistent  and  sincere.  He 
was  a  republican  himself,  but  deemed  a  constitutional  monarchy  the 
proper  government  for  France,  and  labored  for  that  form  in  the  person 
of  Louis  XVI.  as  well  as  in  that  of  Louis  Philippe. 

Loaded  with  honors,  and  with  every  feeling  of  his  heart  gratified  in 
the  noble  reception  he  had  met  in  the  country  of  his  adoption,  Lafayette 
returned  to  the  country  of  his  birth  the  following  summer,  still  as  the 
guest  of  the  United  States,  and  under  its  flag.  He  was  carried  back  in 
a  national  ship  of  war,  -the  new  frigate  Brandywine — a  delicate  com- 
pliment (in  the  name  and  selection  of  the  ship)  from  the  new  president, 
Mr.  Adams,  Lafayette  having  wet  with  his  blood  the  sanguinary  battle- 
field which  takes  its  name  from  the  little  stream  which  gave  it  first  to 
the  field,  and  then  to  the  frigate.  Mr.  Monroe,  then  a  subaltern  in  the 
service  of  the  United  States,  was  wounded  at  the  same  time.  How 
honorable  to  themselves  and  to  the  American  people,  that  nearly  fifty 
years  afterwards,  they  should  again  appear  together,  and  in  exalted 
station ;  one  as  president,  inviting  the  other  to  the  great  republic,  and 
signing  the  acts  which  testified  a  nation's  gratitude ;  the  other  as  a 
patriot  hero,  tried  in  the  revolutions  of  two  countries,  and  resplendent 
in  the  glory  of  virtuous  and  consistent  fame. 

From  " Benton's  Thirty  Years'  View" 


THE   CEDED   LANDS. 

JOHN  M.  BERRIEN. 

WHEN,  in  obedience  to  the  will  of  the  legislature  of  Georgia,  her 
chief  magistrate  had  communicated  to  the  president  his  determination 
to  survey  the  ceded  territory,  his  right  to  do  so  was  admitted.  It  was 
declared  by  the  president  that  the  act  would  be  "wholly"  on  the 
responsibility  of  the  government  of  Georgia,  and  that  "  the  government 
of  the  United  States  would  not  be  in  any  manner  responsible  for  any 
consequences  which  might  result  from  the  measure."  When  his  will- 
ingness to  encounter  this  responsibility  was  announced,  it  was  met  by 
the  declaration  that  the  president  would  "  not  permit  the  .survey  to  be 
made,"  and  he  was  referred  to  a  major-general  of  the  army  of  the  United 
States,  and  one  thousand  regulars. 

The  murder  of  Mclntosh — the  defamation  of  the  chief  magistrate  of 
Georgia — the  menace  of  military  force  to  coerce  her  to  submission — 
were  followed  by  the  traduction  of  two  of  her  cherished  citizens,  em- 


156          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

ployed  as  the  agents  of  the  general  government  in  negotiating  the 
treaty — gentlemen  whose  integrity  will  not  shrink  from  a  comparison 
with  that  of  the  proudest  and  loftiest  of  their  accusers.  Then  the 
sympathies  of  the  people  of  the  Union  were  excited  in  behalf  of  "  the 
children  of  the  forest,"  who  were  represented  as  indignantly  spurning 
the  gold  which  was  offered  to  entice  them  from  the  graves  of  their 
fathers,  and  resolutely  determined  never  to  abandon  them.  The  inci- 
dents of  the  plot  being  thus  prepared,  the  affair  hastens  to  its  con- 
summation. A  new  treaty  is  negotiated  here — a  pure  and  spotless 
treaty.  The  rights  of  Georgia  and  of  Alabama  are  sacrificed ;  the 
United  States  obtain  a  part  of  the  lands,  and  pay  double  the  amount 
stipulated  by  the  old  treaty ;  and  those  poor  and  noble,  and  unsophis- 
ticated sons  of  the  forest,  having  succeeded  in  imposing  on  the  simplicity 
of  this  government,  next  concert,  under  its  eye,  and  with  its  knowledge, 
the  means  of  defrauding  their  own  constituents,  the  chiefs  and  warriors 
of  the  Creek  nation. 

From  "  Benton's  Thirty  Tears'  View." 


THE   PROTECTIVE   SYSTEM. 

GEORGE  MCDUFFIE. 

THE  days  of  Roman  liberty  were  numbered  when  the  people  consented 
to  receive  bread  from  the  public  granaries.  From  that  moment  it  was 
not  the  patriot  who  had  shown  the  greatest  capacity  and  made  the 
greatest  sacrifices  to  serve  the  republic,  but  the  demagogue  who  would 
promise  to  distribute  most  profusely  the  spoils  of  the  plundered  pro- 
vinces, that  was  elevated  to  office  by  a  degenerate  and  mercenary 
populace.  Everything  became  venal,  even  in  the  country  of  Fabricius, 
until  finally  the  empire  itself  was  sold  at  public  auction !  And  what, 
sir,  is  the  nature  and  tendency  of  the  system  we  are  discussing  ?  It 
bears  an  analogy,  but  too  lamentably  striking,  to  that  which  corrupted 
the  republican  purity  of  the  Roman  people.  God  forbid  that  it  should 
consummate  its  triumph  over  the  public  liberty,  by  a  similar  catastrophe, 
though  even  that  is  an  event  by  no  means  improbable,  if  we  continue 
to  legislate  periodically  in  this  way,  and  to  connect  the  election  of  our 
chief  magistrate  with  the  question  of  dividing  out  the  spoils  of  certain 
states — degraded  into  Roman  provinces — among  the  influential  capi- 
talists of  the  other  states  of  this  Union  !  Sir,  when  I  consider  that,  by 
a  single  act  like  the  present,  from  five  to  ten  millions  of  dollars  may  be 
transferred  annually  from  one  part  of  the  community  to  another  ;  when 
I  consider  the  disguise  of  disinterested  patriotism  under  which  the 
basest  and  most  profligate  ambition  may  perpetrate  such  an  act  of 
injustice  and  political  prostitution,  I  cannot  hesitate,  for  a  moment,  to 
pronounce  this  very  system  of  indirect  bounties  the  most  stupendous 
instrument  of  corruption  ever  placed  in  the  hands  of  public  functionaries. 

From  "  Bentrirfs  Thirty  Years?  View.'" 


DECLAMATIONS  IN.  PROSE.  157 

THE   CHARTER   OF   RUNNYMEDE. 

LORD  CHATHAM. 

MY  lords,  I  have  better  hopes  of  the  constitution,  and  a  firmer  con- 
fidence in  the  wisdom  and  constitutional  authority  of  this  house.  It 
is  to  your  ancestors,  my  lords,  it  is  to  the  English  barons,  that  we  are 
indebted  for  the  laws  .and  constitution  we  possess.  Their  virtues  were 
rude  and  uncultivated,  but  they  were  great  and  sincere.  Their  under- 
standings were  as  little  polished  as  their  manners,  but  they  had  hearts 
to  distinguish  right  from  wrong ;  they  had  heads  to  distinguish  truth 
from  falsehood ;  they  understood  the  rights  of  humanity,  and  they  had 
spirit  to  maintain  them. 

My  lords,  I  think  that  history  has  not  done  justice  to  their  conduct, 
when  they  obtained  from  their  sovereign,  that  great  acknowledgment  of 
national  rights  contained  in  Magna  Charta :  they  did  not  confine  it  to 
themselves  alone,  but  delivered  it  as  a  common  blessing  to  the  whole 
people.  They  did  not  say,  these  are  the  rights  of  the  great  barons,  or 
these  are  the  rights  of  the  great  prelates  : — No,  my  lords  ;  they  said,  in 
the  simple  Latin  of  the  times,  nullus  liber  homo,  and  provided  as  care- 
fully for  the  meanest  subject  as  for  the  greatest.  These  are  uncouth 
words,  and  sound  but  poorly  in  the  ears  of  scholars ;  neither  are  they 
addressed  to  the  criticism  of  scholars,  but  to  the  hearts  of  free  men. 
These  three  words,  nullus  liber  homo,  have  a  meaning  which  interests 
us  all:  they  deserve  to  be  remembered — they  deserve  to  be  inculcated 
in  our  minds — they  are  worth  all  the  classics.  Let  us  not,  then, 
degenerate  from  the  glorious  example  of  our  ancestors.  Those  iron 
barons  (for  so  I  may  call  them  when  compared  with  the  silken  barons 
of  modern-  days)  were  the  guardians  of  the  people ;  yet  their  virtues, 
my  lords,  were  never  engaged  in  a  question  of  such  importance  as  the 
present.  A  breach  has  been  made  in  the  constitution — the  battlements 
are  dismantled — the  citadel  is  open  to  the  first  invader — the  walls 
totter — the  constitution  is  not  tenable.  What  remains,  then,  but  for 
us  to  stand  foremost  in  the  breach,  to  repair  it,  or  perish  in  it  ? 

From  "Speech  on  the  Address  to  the  Throne,"  1770. 


THE   FRENCH   REVOLUTION. 

SIR  JAMES  MC!NTOSH. 

THE  French  revolution  began  with  great  and  fatal  errors.  These 
errors  produced  atrocious  crimes.  A  mild  and  feeble  monarchy  was 
succeeded  by  bloody  anarchy,  which  very  shortly  gave  birth  to  military 
despotism.  France,  in  a  few  years,  described  the  whole  circle  of  human 
society. 

All  this  was  in  the  order  of  nature.     When  every  principle  of  autho- 
14 


158  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

rity  and  civil  discipline,  when  every  principle  which  enables  some  men 
to  command  and  disposes  others  to  obey,  was  extirpated  from  the  mind 
by  atrocious  theories,  and  still  more  atrocious  examples ;  when  every 
old  institution  was  trampled  down  with  contumely,  and  every  new 
institution  covered  in  its  cradle  with  blood;  when  the  principle  of 
property  itself,  the  sheet-anchor  of  society,  was  annihilated  ;  when  in 
the  persons  of  the  new  possessors,  whom  the  poverty  of  language 
obliges  us  to  call  proprietors,  it  was  contaminated  in  its  source  by 
robbery  and  murder,  and  it  became  separated  from  that  education  and 
those  manners,  from  that  general  presumption  of  superior  knowledge 
and  more  scrupulous  probity  which  form  its  only  liberal  titles  to 
respect ;  when  the  people  were  taught  to  despise  everything  old,  and 
compelled  to  detest  everything  new  ;  there  remained  only  one  principle 
strong  enough  to  hold  society  together,  a  principle  utterly  incompati- 
ble, indeed,  with  liberty,  and  unfriendly  to  civilization  itself,  a  tyran- 
nical and  barbarous  principle ;  but,  in  that  miserable  condition  of 
human  affairs,  a  refuge  from  still  more  intolerable  evils.  I  mean  the 
principle  of  military  power,  which  gains  strength  from  that  confusion 
and  bloodshed  in  which  all  the  other  elements  of  society  are  dissolved, 
and  which,  in  these  terrible  extremities,  is  the  cement  that  preserves  it 
from  total  destruction. 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Trial  of  Peltier." 


AMEKICAN   PETITIONS. 

LORD  CHATHAM. 

WHEN  your  lordships  look  at  the  papers  transmitted  us  from 
America  ;  when  you  consider  their  decency,  firmness,  and  wisdom, 
you  cannot  but  respect  their  cause  and  wish  to  make  it  your  own.  For 
myself,  I  must  declare  and  avow,  that  in  all  my  reading  and  observa- 
tion— and  it  has  been  my  favorite  study — I  have  read  Thucydides,  and 
have  studied  and  admired  the  master  states  of  the  world — that  for 
solidity  of  reasoning,  force  of  sagacity,  and  wisdom  of  conclusion, 
under  such  a  complication  of  difficult  circumstances,  no  nation,  or  body 
of  men,  can  stand  in  preference  to  the  General  Congress  at  Philadel- 
phia. I  trust  it  is  obvious  to  your  lordships,  that  all  attempts  to 
impose  servitude  upon  such  men,  to  establish  despotism  over  such  a 
mighty  continental  nation,  must  be  vain,  must  be  fatal.  We  shall  be 
forced  ultimately  to  retract ;  let  us  retract  while  we  can,  not  when  we 
must.  I  say  we  must  necessarily  undo  these  violent  oppressive  acts  ; 
they  must  be  repealed — you  will  repeal  them  ;  I  pledge  myself  for  it, 
that  you  will  in  the  end  repeal  them  ;  I  stake  my  reputation  on  it — I 
will  consent  to  be  taken  for  an  idiot,  if  they  are  not  finally  repealed 
Avoid,  then,  this  humiliating,  disgraceful  necessity.  With  a  dignity 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  159 

becoming  your  exalted  situation,  make  the  first  advances  to  concord,  to 
peace  and  happiness ;  for  that  is  your  true  dignity,  to  act  with  pru- 
dence and  justice.  That  you  should  first  concede,  is  obvious,  from 
sound  and  rational  policy.  Concession  comes  with  better  grace  and 
more  salutary  effect  from  superior  power.  It  reconciles  superiority  of 
power  with  the  feelings  of  men,  and  establishes  solid  confidence  on  the 
foundations  of  affection  and  gratitude. 

From  "Speech  on  Removing  the  Troops  from  Boston"  1770. 


RICHARD  LALOR  SHEIL. 

THE  prison  of  this  town  will  present,  on  Monday  next,  a  very  afflicting 
spectacle.  Before  the  prisoner  ascends  the  vehicle  which  is  to  convey 
him  for  transportation  to  Cork,  he  will  be  allowed  to  take  leave  of  his 
wife  and  children.  She  will  cling  to  his  bosom;  and  while  her  arms  are 
folded  round  his  neck — while  she  sobs,  in  the  agony  of  anguish,  on  his 
breast — his  children,  who  used  to  climb  his  knees  in  playful  emulation 
for  his  caresses  *  *  *  *  *  *  I  will  not  go  on  with  this  dis- 
tressing picture— your  own  emotions  will  complete  it.  The  pains  of 
this  poor  man  will  not  end  at  the  threshold  of  his  prison.  He  will  be 
conveyed  in  a  vessel,  freighted  with  affliction,  across  the  ocean,  and 
will  be  set  on  the  lonely  and  distant  land  from  which  he  will  depart  no 
more ;  the  thoughts  of  home  will  haunt  him,  and  adhere  with  a  deadly 
tenacity  to  his  heart.  He  will  mope  about  in  a  deep  and  settled  sor- 
row— he  will  have  no  incentive  to  exertion,  for  he  will  have  bidden  fare- 
well to  hope.  The  instruments  of  labor  will  hang  idly  in  his  hands — 
he  will  go  through  his  task  without  a  consciousness  of  what  he  is  doing. 
Thus  every  day  will  go  by,  and  at  its  close,  his  sad  consolation  will  be 
to  stand  on  the  shore,  and,  fixing  his  eyes  in  that  direction  in  which  he 
will  have  been  taught  that  his  country  lies,  if  not  in  the  language,  he 
will,  at  least,  exclaim,  in  the  sentiments  which  have  been  so  simply  and 
so  pathetically  expressed  in  the  song  of  exile : — 

"  Erin,  my  country,  though  sad  and  forsaken, 

In  dreams  I  revisit  thy  sea-beaten  shore  ; 
But,  alas  !  in  far  foreign  lands  I  awaken, 

And  sigh  for  the  friends  that  can  meet  me  no  more. 
"Where  is  my  cabin-door,  fast  by  the  wild  wood, 

Sisters  and  sire,  did  you  weep  for  its  fall, 
Where  is  the  mother  that  looked  on  my  childhood, 

And  where  is  the  bosom-friend  dearer  than  all  ?" 

From  " Speech  at  the  Clonmel  Aggregate  Meeting"  1829. 


160  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


RELIGIOUS   CHARITY. 

EICHARD  LALOR  SHEIL. 

LET  there  be  an  end  to  national  animosities  as  well  as  to  sectarian 
detestations.  Perish  the  bad  theology,  which,  with  an  impious  con- 
verse, makes  God  according  to  man's  image,  and  with  infernal  passions 
fills  the  heart  of  man !  Perish  the  bad,  the  narrow,  the  pernicious 
sentiments,  which,  for  the  genuine  love  of  country,  institutes  a  feeling 
of  despotic  domination  upon  your  part,  and  of  provincial  turbulence 
upon  ours ; — and  while  upon  pseudo-religion  and  pseudo-patriotism  I 
pronounce  my  denunciation,  live  (let  me  be  permitted  to  pray)  the 
spirit  of  philanthropic,  forbearing,  forgiving  Christianity  amongst  us ! 
and,  combined  with  it,  live  the  lofty  love  of  country,  which  associates 
the  welfare  of  both  islands  with  the  glory  of  this  majestic  empire — 
which,  superior  to  the  small  passions  that  ought  to  be  as  ephemeral  as 
the  incidents  of  which  they  were  born,  acts  in  conformity  with  the 
imperial  policy  of  William  Pitt,  and  the  marvellous  discovery  of  James 
Watt — sees  the  legislation  of  the  one  ratified  by  the  science  of  the 
other,  and,  of  the  project  of  the  son  of  Chatham,  in  the  invention  of 
the  mighty  mechanist,  beholds  the  consummation. 

From  "  Speech  on  tJie  Irish  Reform  Bill,"  1836. 


DEFENCE   OF   JOHN   o'CONNELL. 

RICHARD  LALOR  SHEIL. 

You  will  not  consign  him  to  the  spot  to  which  the  attorney-general 
invites  you  to  surrender  him.  When  the  spring  shall  have  come  again, 
and  the  winter  shall  have  passed — when  the  spring  shall  have  come 
again,  it  is  not  through  the  windows  of  a  prison-house  that  the  father 
of  such  a  son,  and  the  son  of  such  a  father,  shall  look  upon  those  green 
hills  on  which  the  eyes  of  many  a  captive  have  gazed  so  wistfully  in 
vain,  but  in  their  own  mountain  home  again  they  shall  listen  to  the 
murmurs  of  the  great  Atlantic ;  they  shall  go  forth  and  inhale  the 
freshness  of  the  morning  air  together ;  "  they  shall  be  free  of  mountain 
solitudes  ;"  they  will  be  encompassed  with  the  loftiest  images  of  liberty 
upon  every  side;  and  if  time  shall  have  stolen  its  suppleness  from  the 
father's  knee,  or  impaired  the  firmness  of  his  tread,  he  shall  lean  on 
the  child  of  her  that  watches  over  him  from  heaven,  and  shall  look  out 
from  some  high  place  far  and  wide  into  the  island  whose  greatness  and 
whose  glory  shall  be  for  ever  associated  with  his  name.  In  your  love 
of  justice — in  your  love  of  Ireland — in  your  love  of  honesty  and  fair 
play — I  place  my  confidence.  I  ask  you  for  an  acquittal,  not  only  for 
the  sake  of  your  country,  but  for  your  own.  Upon  the  day  when  this 
trial  shall  have  been  brought  to  a  termination,  when,  amidst  the  hush 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PKOSE.  161 

of  public  expectancy,  in  answer  to  the  solemn  interrogatory  which 
shall  be  put  to  you  by  the  officer  of  the  court,  you  shall  answer,  "  Not 
guilty,"  with  what  a  transport  will  that  glorious  negative  be  welcomed  ! 
How  will  you  be  blest,  adored,  worshipped ;  and  when  retiring  from 
this  scene  of  excitement  and  of  passion,  you  shall  return  to  your  own 
tranquil  homes,  how  pleasurably  will  you  look  upon  your  children,  in 
the  consciousness  that  you  will  have  left  them  a  patrimony  of  peace  by 
impressing  upon  the  British  cabinet,  that  some  other  measure  besides 
a  state  prosecution  is  necessary  for  the  pacification  of  your  country  ! 

From  "  Speech  in  the  Court  of  Queen's  Bench,"  1843. 


IKON   LINKS. 

RUFUS  CHOATE. 

ONE  splendid  effort  has  been  made  to  lay  hold  of  the  West  and 
North-west.  One  more  may  be  undertaken,  and  there  is  no  more 
afterwards  to  be  made.  Sir,  if  the  East,  if  Maine,  if  that  large  but 
desert  territory  away  up  under  the  North  Star,  her  coast  iron  bound, 
her  soil  sterile,  her  winters  cold — if  Maine  needs  two  ocean  communi- 
cations, do  you  think  that  the  Great  West  will  not  pay  for  two  only  ? 
Yet  two  are  all  that  can  be  considered  practicable.  And  the  last  of 
these  two  is  to  be  accomplished  by  you,  or  not  at  all.  These  are  the 
opportunities  that  make  me  regret  my  want  of  participation  in  public 
life. 

"  Non  equidem  invideo,  miror  magis." 

You  remember  that  passage  in  which  a  great  English  statesman,  on 
the  verge  of  the  grave,  so  pertinently  expressed  himself,  that  he  "  would 
not  give  a  peck  of  refuse  wheat  for  all  that  there  is  of  fame  or  honor 
in  this  world/'  That  sentiment  may  be  a  true  one.  But  to  connect 
ourselves  with  an  act  of  public  utility,  to  do  an  act  that  shall  stand  out 
clear  and  distinct  among  all  the  aggregate  of  acts  that  have  made 
Massachusetts  what  she  has  become,  to  rivet  one  more  chain  that 
shall  bind  the  East  to  the  free  North-west  for  ever,  to  contribute  to  a 
policy  that  shall  make  it  quite  certain  that  if  the  great  Central  Con- 
stellation is  to  be  placed  over  the  sky,  New  England  shall  claim  its 
share  in  the  brightness — this  is  worth  far  more  than  all  for  which 
ambition  has  ever  sighed ;  and  this,  Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen,  is 
permitted  to-day  to  you. 

From  "  Speech  in  a  Railroad  Case"  1850. 

14*  L 


162  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   LEARNING-  FOK  A  JUDGE. 

RuFua  CHOATE. 

THE  good  judge  should  be  profoundly  learned  in  all  the  learning  of 
the  law,  and  he  must  know  how  to  use  that  learning.  Will  any  one 
stand  up  here  to  deny  this?  In  this  day,  boastful,  glorious  for  its 
advancing  popular,  professional,  scientific,  and  all  education,  will  any 
one  disgrace  himself  by  doubting  the  necessity  of  deep  and  continued 
studies,  and  various  and  thorough  attainments,  to  the  bench  ?  He  is 
to  know  not  merely  the  law  which  you  make  and  the  legislature  makes, 
not  constitutional  and  statute  law  alone,  but  that  other,  ampler,  that 
boundless  jurisprudence,  the  common  law,  which  the  successive  gene- 
rations of  the  state  have  silently  built  up ;  that  old  code  of  freedom 
which  we  brought  with  us  in  the  Mayflower  and  Arabella,  but  which 
in  the  progress  of  centuries  we  have  ameliorated  and  enriched  and 
adapted  wisely  to  the 'necessities  of  a  busy,  prosperous,  and  wealthy 
community, — that  he  must  know.  And  where  to  find  it?  In  volumes 
which  you  must  count  by  hundreds,  by  thousands ;  filling  libraries  ; 
exacting  long  labors  ;  the  labors  of  a  lifetime,  abstracted  from  busi- 
ness, from  politics ;  but  assisted  by  taking  part  in  an  active  judicial 
administration  ;  such  labors  as  produced  the  wisdom  and  won  the  fame 
of  Parsons,  and  Marshall,  and  Kent,  and  Story,  and  Holt,  and  Mans- 
field. If  your  system  of  appointment  and  tenure  does  not  present  a 
motive,  a  help  for  such  labors  and  such  learning ;  if  it  discourages,  if 
it  disparages  them,  in  so  far  it  is  a  failure. 

From  "  Speech  in  Massachusetts  Convention" 


THE  INCORRUPTIBLE   JUDGE. 

RUFUS  CHOATE. 

IN  the  next  place,  he  must  be  a  man,  not  merely  upright,  not  merely 
honest  and  well-intentioned — this  of  course — but  a  man  who  will  not 
respect  persons  in  judgment.  And  does  not  every  one  here  agree  to 
this  also  ?  Dismissing,  for  a  moment,  all  theories  about  the  mode  of 
appointing  him,  or  the  time  for  which  he  shall  hold  office,  sure  I  am, 
we  all  demand,  that  as  far  as  human  virtue,  assisted  by  the  best  con- 
trivances of  human  wisdom,  can  attain  to  it,  he  shall  not  respect  persons 
in  judgment.  He  shall  know  nothing  about  the  parties,  everything  about 
the  case.  He  shall  do  everything  for  justice,  nothing  for  himself,  nothing 
for  his  friend,  nothing  for  his  patron,  nothing  for  his  sovereign.  If  on 
the  one  side  is  the  executive  power,  and  the  legislature,  and  the  people — 
the  sources  of  his  honors,  the  givers  of  his  daily  bread — and  on  the  other, 
an  individual  nameless  and  odious,  his  eye  is  to  see  neither  great  nor 
small ;  attending  only  to  the  "  trepidations  of  the  balance."  If  a  law 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  163 

is  passed  by  a  unanimous  legislature,  clamored  for  by  the  general  voice 
of  the  public,  and  a  cause  is  before  him  on  it  in  which  the  whole  com- 
munity is  on  one  side,  and  an  individual  nameless  or  odious  on  the 
other,  and  he  believes  it  to  be  against  the  Constitution,  he  must  so 
declare  it,  or  there  is  no  judge.  If  Athens  comes  there  to  demand  that 
the  cup  of  hemlock  be  put  to  the  lips  of  the  wisest  of  men,  and  he 
believes  that  he  has  not  corrupted  the  youth,  nor  omitted  to  worship  the 
gods  of  the  city,  nor  introduced  new  divinities  of  his  own,  he  must  deliver 
him,  though  the  thunder  light  on  the  unterrified  brow. 

From  "  Speech  in  Massachusetts  Convention." 


STATES   PROTECTED  BY   THE   GENERAL   GOVERNMENT. 

T.  F.  MARSHALL. 

THE  exterior  states  are  the  bulwarks  of  her  safety — the  impregnable 
fortresses  which  break  the  storm  of  war,  and  keep  far  distant  from  her 
borders  its  ravage  and  its  horrors.  She  views  them  as  such,  and  regards 
their  rights,  their  safety,  and  their  liberty  as  her  own.  She  is  one  of  a 
system  of  nerves  which  vibrate  at  the  least  touch  from  without  from  the 
remotest  extremity  to  the  centre.  The  frontier  of  New  York  is  her 
frontier  ;  the  Atlantic  seaboard  is  her  seaboard ;  and  the  millions  ex- 
pended in  fortifying  the  one  or  the  other,  she  regards  as  expended  for 
her  defence.  A  blow  aimed  at  New  York  is  a  blow  aimed  at  herself;  an 
indignity  or  an  outrage  inflicted  upon  any  state  in  this  Union,  is  inflicted 
upon  the  whole  and  upon  each.  To  submit  to  such  were  to  sacrifice 
her  independence  and  her  freedom — to  make  all  other  blessings  value- 
less, all  other  property  insecure.  Not  all  the  unsettled  domain  of  the 
Union,  in  full  property  and  jurisdiction,  could  bribe  her  to  such  a 
sacrifice.  The  blood  she  has  shed  on  the  snows  of  Canada  and  in  the 
swamps  of  Louisiana,  give  ample  testimony  to  her  readiness  to  meet 
danger  at  a  distance.  She  seeks  no  separate  destiny;  she  feels  no 
interest  alien  from  the  common  country.  She  wants  this  money  to 
strengthen  herself,  and,  by  strengthening  herself,  to  make  the  whole 
country  stronger  and  better  able  to  maintain  any  future  conflict  in 
which  its  interests  or  its  safety  may  involve  it. 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Land  Bill,"  1841. 


MODERN  TOLERATION. 

T.  F.  MARSHALL. 

MEN  have  been  known  to  fight  for  their  religion  and  their  franchises. 
John  Huss  was  an  obscure  professor  in  a  German  university.  The 
Emperor  Sigismund,  when  he  burnt  him  at  Constance,  little  dreamed 


164          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

that  from  the  ashes  of  the  friendless  martyr  there  would  rise  the  flames 
of  a  war  in  Bohemia  which  would  shake  the  Austrian  power,  and  deso- 
late Germany  through  long  years  of  suffering  and  of  blood.  If  the 
persecuting  temper  of  the  sixteenth  century  is  to  be  renewed  here,  if 
American  Protestantism  so  far  forgets  its  genius  and  its  mission,  as  to 
aid  in  rekindling  the  religious  wars  of  that  terrible  period  in  quest  of 
vengeance  for  the  gone  centuries  of  wrong,  religion  will  suffer  most. 
True  Christianity  will  veil  her  face  and  seek  the  shade,  till  better 
times.  Men  will  be  divided  between  a  sullen  and  sordid  fanaticism 
on  the  one  side,  and  a  scoffing  infidelity  on  the  other.  Our  national 
characteristics  will  be  lost.  American  civilization  will  have  changed 
its  character.  Our  Federal  Union  will  have  sacrificed  its  distinctive 
traits,  and  we  shall  have  exhibited  a  failure  in  the  principles  with 
which  our  government  commenced  its  career,  at  which  hell  itself  might 

exult  in  triumph. 

From  "  Speech  at  Versailles,  Ky.,"  1855. 


STATE   LAWS. 

ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 

THERE  is  one  transcendent  advantage  belonging  to  the  province  of 
state  governments,  which  alone  suffices  to  place  the  matter  in  a  clear 
and  satisfactory  light — I  mean  the  ordinary  administration  of  criminal 
and  civil  justice.  This,  of  all  others,  is  the  most  powerful,  most  uni- 
versal, and  most  attractive  source  of  popular  obedience  and  attachment. 
It  is  this,  which,  being  the  immediate  and  visible  guardian  of  life  and 
property ;  having  its  benefits  and  its  terrors  in  constant  activity  before 
the  public  eye ;  regulating  all  those  personal  interests,  and  familiar 
concerns,  to  which  the  sensibility  of  individuals  is  more  immediately 
awake  ;  contributes,  more  than  any  other  circumstance,  to  impress  upon 
the  minds  of  the  people  affection,  esteem,  and  reverence  towards  the 
government.  This  great  cement  of  society,  which  will  diffuse  itself 
almost  wholly  through  the  channels  of  the  particular  governments, 
independent  of  all  other  causes  of  influence,  would  insure  them  so 
decided  an  empire  over  their  respective  citizens,  as  to  render  them  at 
all  times  a  complete  counterpoise,  and  not  unfrequent  dangerous  rivals 
to  the  power  of  the  union. 

From  "  The  Federalist." 


THE  CONSTITUTION  A  BILL   OF   RIGHTS. 

ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 

THE  constitution  is  itself,  in  every  rational  sense,  and  to  every  useful 
purpose,  A  BILL  OF  RIGHTS.    The  several  bills  of  rights  in  Great  Britain, 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  165 

form  its  constitution,  and  conversely  the  constitution  of  each  state  is  its 
bill  of  rights.  In  like  manner  the  proposed  constitution,  if  adopted, 
will  be  the  bill  of  rights  of  the  Union.  Is  it  one  object  of  a  bill  of 
rights  to  declare  and  specify  the  political  privileges  of  the  citizens  in  the 
structure  and  administration  of  the  government?  This  is  done  in  the 
most  ample  and  precise  manner  in  the  plan  of  the  convention ;  com- 
prehending various  precautions  for  the  public  security,  which  are  not  to 
be  found  in  any  of  the  state  constitutions.  Is  another  object  of  a  bill 
of  rights  to  define  certain  immunities  and  modes  of  proceeding,  which 
are  relative  to  personal  and  private  concerns  ?  This  we  have  seen  has 
also  been  attended  to,  in  a  variety  of  cases,  in  the  same  plan.  Advert- 
ing therefore  to  the  substantial  meaning  of  a  bill  of  rights,  it  is  absurd 
to  allege  that  it  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  work  of  the  convention.  It 
may  be  said  that  it  does  not  go  far  enough,  though  it  will  not  be  easy 
to  make  this  appear ;  but  it  can  with  no  propriety  be  contended  that 
there  is  no  such  thing.  It  certainly  must  be  immaterial  what  mode  is 
observed  as  to  the  order  of  declaring  the  rights  of  the  citizens,  if  they 
are  provided  for  in  any  part  of  the  instrument  which  establishes  the 
government :  whence  it  must  be  apparent,  that  much  of  what  has  been 
said  on  this  subject  rests  merely  on  verbal  and  nominal  distinctions, 
entirely  foreign  to  the  substance  of  the  thing. 

From  "  The  Federalist." 


THE  POWER   OF   THE   CONSTITUTION". 

JAMES  MADISON. 

IF  the  new  constitution  be  examined  with  accuracy  and  candor,  it 
will  be  found  that  the  change  which  it  proposes,  consists  much  less  in 
the  addition  of  NEW  POWERS  to  the  Union  than  in  the  invigoration  of  its 
ORIGINAL  POWERS.  The  regulation  of  commerce,  it  is  true,  is  a  new 
power ;  but  that  seems  to  be  an  addition  which  few  oppose,  and  from 
which  no  apprehensions  are  entertained.  The  powers  relating  to  war 
and  peace,  armies  and  fleets,  treaties  and  finance,  with  the  other  more 
considerable  powers,  are  all  vested  in  the  existing  Congress  by  the  Arti- 
cles of  Confederation.  The  proposed  change  does  not  enlarge  these 
powers ;  it  only  substitutes  a  more  effectual  mode  of  administering 
them.  The  change  relating  to  taxation  may  be  regarded  as  the  most 
important ;  and  yet  the  present  Congress  have  as  complete  authority  to 
REQUIRE  of  the  states  indefinite  supplies  of  money  for  the  common 
defence  and  general  welfare,  as  the  future  Congress  will  have  to  require 
them  of  individual  citizens ;  and  the  latter  will  be  no  more  bound  than 
the  states  themselves  have  been,  to  pay  the  quotas  respectively  taxed  on 
them.  Had  the  states  complied  punctually  with  the  Articles  of  Confed- 
eration, or  could  their  compliance  have  been  enforced  by  as  peaceable 


166  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

means  as  may  be  used  with  success  towards  single  persons,  our  past 
experience  is  very  far  from  countenancing  an  opinion,  that  the  state 
governments  would  have  lost  their  constitutional  powers,  and  have 
gradually  undergone  an  entire  consolidation.  To  maintain  that  such 
an  event  would  have  ensued,  would  be,  to  say  at  once,  that  the  existence 
of  the  state  governments  is  incompatible  with  any  system  whatever,  that 
accomplishes  the  essential  purposes  of  the  Union. 

From  "  The  Federalist." 


EULOGY   ON   FRANKLIN. 

ABB£  FAUCHET. 

FRANKLIN  did  not  omit  any  of  the  means  of  being  useful  to  men,  or 
serviceable  to  society.  He  spoke  to  all  conditions,  to  both  sexes,  to 
every  age.  This  amiable  moralist  descended,  in  his  writings,  to  the 
most  artless  details ;  to  the  most  ingenuous  familiarities ;  to  the  first 
ideas  of  a  rural,  a  commercial,  and  a  civil  life ;  to  the  dialogues  of  old 
men  and  children  ;  full  at  once  of  all  the  verdure  and  all  the  maturity 
of  wisdom.  In  short,  the  prudent  lessons  arising  from  the  exposition 
of  those  obscure  happy,  easy  virtues,  which  form  so  many  links  in  the 
chain  of  a  good  man's  life,  derived  immense  weight  from  that  reputa- 
tion for  genius  which  he  had  acquired,  by  being  one  of  the  first  natural- 
ists and  greatest  philosophers  in  the  universe. 

At  one  and  the  same  time,  he  governed  nature  in  the  heavens  and  in 
the  hearts  of  men.  Amidst  the  tempests  of  the  atmosphere,  he  directed 
the  thunder ;  amidst  the  storms  of  society,  he  directed  the  passions. 
Think,  gentlemen,  with  what  attentive  docility,  with  what  religious 
respect,  one  must  hear  the  voice  of  a  simple  man,  who  preached  up 
human  happiness,  when  it  was  recollected  that  it  was  the  powerful 
voice  of  the  same  man  who  regulated  the  lightning. 

He  electrified  the  consciences,  in  order  to  extract  the  destructive  fire 
of  vice,  exactly  in  the  same  manner  as  he  electrified  the  heavens,  in 
order  peaceably  to  invite  from  them  the  terrible  fire  of  the  elements. 

Venerable  old  man  !  august  philosopher !  legislator  of  the  felicity  of 
thy  country,  prophet  of  the  fraternity  of  the  human  race,  what  ecstatic 
happiness  embellished  the  end  of  thy  career!  From  thy  fortunate 
asylum,  and  in  the  midst  of  thy  brothers  who  enjoyed  in  tranquillity 
the  fruit  of  thy  virtues,  and  the  success  of  thy  genius,  thou  hast  sung 
songs  of  deliverance.  The  last  looks,  which  thou  didst  cast  around 
thee,  beheld  America  happy ;  France,  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean, 
free,  and  a  sure  indication  of  the  approaching  freedom  arid  happiness 
of  the  world. 

Pronounced  in  Paris,  1790. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  167 


THE   AMEBICAN   MOTIVE   TO   WAK. 

CHARLES  JAMES  Fox. 

EVERY  blow  you  strike  in  America  is  against  yourselves  ;  it  is  against, 
all  idea  of  reconciliation,  and  against  your  own  interest, 'though  you 
should  be  able,  as  you  never  will  be,  to  force  them  to  submit.  Every 
stroke  against  France  is  of  advantage  to  you  :  America  must  be  con- 
quered in  France ;  France  never  can  be  conquered  in  America. 

The  war  of  the  Americans  is  a  war  of  passion  ;  it  is  of  such  a  nature 
as  to  be  supported  by  the  most  powerful  virtues,  love  of  liberty  and  of 
their  country ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  by  those  passions  in  the  human 
heart  which  give  courage,  strength,  and  perseverance  to  man  ;  the 
spirit  of  revenge  for  the  injuries  you  have  done  them  ;  of  retaliation 
for  the  hardships  you  have  inflicted  on  them  ;  and  of  opposition  to  the 
unjust  powers  you  have  exercised  over  them.  Everything  combines  to 
animate  them  to  this  war,  and  such  a  war  is  without  end ;  for  whatever 
obstinacy,  enthusiasm  ever  inspired  man  with,  you  will  now  find  in 
America.  No  matter  what  gives  birth  to  that  enthusiasm  ;  whether 
the  name  of  religion  or  of  liberty,  the  effects  are  the  same ;  it  inspires 
a  spirit  which  is  unconquerable,  and  solicitous  to  undergo  difficulty, 
danger,  and  hardship :  and  as  long  as  there  is  a  man  in  America,  a 
being  formed  such  as  we  are,  you  will  have  him  present  himself  against 
you  in  the  field. 

From  "  Speech  in  Parliament"  1778. 


THE   REIGN   OF   TERROR. 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

THE  Reign  of  Terror,  under  which  no  life  was  secure  for  a  day ;  the 
wholesale  butcheries,  both  of  the  prisoners  in  September,  and  by  the 
daily  executions  that  soon  followed  ;  the  violence  of  the  conscription, 
which  filled  every  family  with  orphans  and  widows ;  the  profligate  des- 
potism and  national  disasters  under  the  Directory  ;  the  military  tyranny 
of  Napoleon ;  the  sacrifice  of  millions  to  slake  his  thirst  of  conquest ; 
the  invasion  of  France  by  foreign  troops — pandours,  hussars,  cossacks, 
twice  revelling  in  the  spoils  of  Paris  ;  the  humiliating  occupation  of 
the  country  for  five  years  by  the  allied  armies,  and  her  ransom  by  the 
payment  of  millions ; — these  were  the  consequences,  more  or  less  re- 
mote, of  the  Reign  of  Terror,  which  so  burnt  into  the  memory  of  all 
.Frenchmen  the  horrors  of  anarchy,  as  to  make  an  aversion  to  change 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  prevailing  characteristic  of  a  people  not 
the  least  fickle  among  the  nations,  and  to  render  a  continuance  of  any 
yoke  bearable,  compared  with  the  perils  of  casting  it  off.  All  these 
erils  were  the  price  paid  by  the  respectable  classes  of  France,  but  espe- 


168  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

sially  of  Paris,  for  their  unworthy  dread  of  resisting  the  clubs  and  the 
mob  in  1792. 

From  "  Eminent  Statesmen." 


DENUNCIATION   OF  LOKD  CASTLEREAGH. 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

MY  lasting  sorrow  for  the  loss  we  have  sustained  is  made  deeper,  by 
the  regret  that  those  lamented  friends  live  not  to  witness  the  punish- 
ment of  that  foul  conduct  which  they  solemnly  denounced.  The  petty 
tyrant,  to  whom  the  noble  lord  delivered  over  that  ancient  and  gallant 
people,  almost  as  soon  as  they  had,  at  his  call,  joined  the  standard  of 
national  independence,  has  since  subjected  them  to  the  most  rigorous 
provisions  of  his  absurd  code ;  a  code  directed  especially  against  the 
commerce  of  this  country,  and  actually  less  unfavorable  to  France. 

Thus,  then,  it  appears  that  after  all,  in  public  as  well  as  in  private, 
in  state  affairs  as  well  as  in  the  concerns  of  the  most  humble  indivi- 
duals, the  old  maxim  cannot  safely  be  forgotten,  that  "honesty  is  the 
best  policy."  In  vain  did  the  noble  lord  flatter  himself  that  his  sub- 
serviency to  the  unrighteous  system  of  the  Congress  would  secure  him 
the  adherence  of  the  courts  whom  he  made  his  idols.  If  he  had  aban- 
doned that  false,  foreign  system,  if  he  had  acted  upon  the  principles 
of  the  nation  whom  he  represented,  and  stood  forward  as  the  advocate 
of  the  people,  the  people  would  have  been  grateful.  He  preferred  the 
interests  and  wishes  of  the  courts ;  and  by  the  courts  he  is  treated  with 
their  wonted  neglect.  To  his  crimes  against  the  people,  all  over  Eu^ 
rope ;  to  his  invariable  surrender  of  their  cause ;  to  his  steady  refusal 
of  the  protection  which  they  had  a  right  to  expect,  and  which  they  did 
expect,  from  the  manly  and  generous  character  of  England,  it  is  owing, 
that  if  at  this  moment  you  traverse  the  Continent,  in  any  direction 
whatever,  you  may  trace  the  noble  lord's  career  in  the  curses  of  the 
nations  whom  he  has  betrayed,  and  the  mockery  of  the  courts  who  have 
inveigled  him  to  be  their  dupe. 

From  "  Speech  in  Parliament." 


THE   VALOR   OF   THE   IRISH  ALIENS. 

R.  L.  SHEIL. 

THERE  is,  however,  one  man  of  great  abilities,  not  a  member  of  this 
house  (Lord  Lyndhurst),  but  whose  talents  and  whose  boldness  have 
placed  him  in  the  topmost  place  in  his  party — who,  disdaining  all 
imposture,  and  thinking  it  the  best  course  to  appeal  directly  to  the  reli- 
gious and  national  antipathies  of  the  people  of  this  country — abandon- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  i69 

ing  all  reserve,  and  flinging  off  the  slender  veil  by  which  his  political 
associates  affect  to  cover,  although  they  cannot  hide,  their  motives — 
distinctly  and  audaciously  tells  the  Irish' people  that  they  are  not  enti- 
tled to  the  same  privileges  as  Englishmen ;  and  pronounces  them,  in 
any  particular  which  could  enter  his  minute  enumeration  of  the  circum- 
stances by  which  fellow-citizenship  is  created,  in  race,  identity,  and 
religion — to  be  aliens — to  be  aliens  in  race — to  be  aliens  in  country — 
to  be  aliens  in  religion.  Aliens !  good  God  !  was  Arthur,  Duke  of 
Wellington,  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and  did  he  not  start  up  and  exclaim, 
"  Hold  !  I  have  seen  the  aliens  do  their  duty"  ?  The  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton is  not  a  man  of  an  excitable  temperament.  His  mind  is  of  a  cast 
too  martial  to  be  easily  moved  ;  but,  notwithstanding  his  habitual 
inflexibility,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  when  he  heard  his  Roman 
Catholic  countrymen  (for  we  are  his  countrymen)  designated  by  a 
phrase  as  offensive  as  the  abundant  vocabulary  of  his  eloquent  con- 
federate could  supply — I  cannot  help  thinking  that  he  ought  to  have 
recollected  the  many  fields  of  fight  in  which  we  have  been  contributors 
to  his  renown.  "  The  battles,  sieges,  fortunes  that  he  has  passed," 
ought  to  have  come  back  upon  him.  He  ought  to  have  remembered  that, 
from  the  earliest  achievement  in  which  he  displayed  that  military 
genius  which  has  placed  him  foremost  in  the  annals  of  modern  war- 
fare, down  to  that  last  and  surpassing  combat  which  has  made  his 
name  imperishable — from  Assaye  to  Waterloo — the  Irish  soldiers,  with 
whom  your  armies  are  filled,  were  the  inseparable  auxiliaries  to  the 
glory  with  which  his  unparalleled  successes  have  been  crowned.  Whose 
were  the  arms  that  drove  your  bayonets  at  Vimiera  through  the  pha- 
lanxes that  never  reeled  in  the  shock  of  war  before  ?  What  desperate 
valor  climbed  the  steeps  and  filled  the  moats  at  Badajos?  All  his 
victories  should  have  rushed  and  crowded  back  upon  his  memory — 
Yimiera,  Badajos,  Salamanca,  Albuera,  Toulouse,  and,  last  of  all  the 

greatest .     Tell  me,  for  you  were  there — I  appeal  to  the  gallant 

soldier  before  me  (Sir  Henry  Hardinge,)  from  whose  opinions  I  differ, 
but  who  bears,  I  know,  a  generous  heart  in  an  intrepid  breast ; — tell 
me,  for  you  must  needs  remember — on  that  day  when  the  destinies  of 
mankind  were  trembling  in  the  balance — while  death  fell  in  showers 
— when  the  artillery  of  France  was  levelled  with  a  precision  of  the 
most  deadly  science — when  her  legions,  incited  by  the  voice,  and 
inspired  by  the  example  of  their  mighty  leader,  rushed  again  and 
again  to  the  onset — tell  me  if,  for  an  instant,  when,  to  hesitate  for  an 
instant  was  to  be  lost,  the  "  aliens"  blenched  ?  And  when  at  length 
the  moment  for  the  last  and  decisive  movement  had  arrived,  and  the 
valor  which  had  so  long  been  wisely  checked,  was  at  last  let  loose — 
when,  with  words  familiar,  but  immortal,  the  great  captain  com- 
manded the  great  assault — tell  me,  if  Catholic  Ireland,  with  less  heroic 
15 


170  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

valor  than  the  natives  of  this  your  own  glorious  country,  precipitated 
herself  upon  the  foe?  The  blood  of  England,  Scotland,  and  of  Ireland, 
flowed  in  the  same  stream,  and  drenched  the  same  field.  When  the 
chill  morning  dawned,  their  dead  lay  cold  and  stark  together  ; — in  the 
same  deep  pit  their  bodies  were  deposited— the  green  corn  of  spring  is 
now  breaking  from  their  commingled  dust — the  dew  falls  from  heaven 
upon  their  union  in  .the  grave.  Partakers  in  every  peril — in  the  glory 
shall  we  not  be  permitted  to  participate ;  and  shall  we  be  told,  as  a 
requital,  that  we  are  estranged  from  the  noble  country  for  whose  salva- 
tion our  life-blood  was  poured  out  ? 

From  "  Speech  on  the  Irish  Municipal  Bill." 


RETIBEMENT   FKOM   THE   SENATE. 

HENRY  CLAT. 

ALLOW  me,  Mr.  President,  to  announce,  formally  and  officially, 
my  retirement  from  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  and  to  present 
the  last  motion  which  I  shall  ever  make  within  this  body ;  but, 
before  making  that  motion,  I  trust  I  shall  be  pardoned  for  availing 
myself  of  this  occasion  to  make  a  few  observations.  At  the  time  of  my 
entry  into  this  body,  which  took  place  in  December,  1806,  I  regarded 
it,  and  still'  regard  it,  as  a  body  which  may  be  compared,  without 
disadvantage,  to  any  of  a  similar  character  which  has  existed  in  ancient 
or  modern  times ;  whether  we  look  at  it  in  reference  to  its  dignity,  its 
powers,  or  the  mode  of  its  constitution  ;  and  I  will  also  add,  whether 
it  be  regarded  in  reference  to  the  amount  of  ability  which  I  shall  leave 
behind  me  when  I  retire  from  this  chamber.  In  instituting  a  compa- 
rison between  the  Senate  of  the  United  States  and  similar  political 
institutions,  of  other  countries,  of  France  and  England,  for  example, 
I  am  sure  the  comparison  might  be  made  without  disadvantage  to 
the  American  Senate.  In  respect  to  the  constitution  of  these  bodies : 
in  England,  with  only  the  exception  of  the  peers  from  Ireland  and 
Scotland,  and  in  France  with  no  exception,  the  component  parts,  the 
members  of  these  bodies,  hold  their  places  by  virtue  of  no  delegated 
authority,  but  derive  their  powers  from  the  crown,  either  by  ancient 
creation  of  nobility  transmitted  by  force  of  hereditary  descent,  or  by 
new  patents  as  occasion  required  an  increase  of  their  numbers.  But 
here,  Mr.  President,  we  have  the  proud  title  of  being  the  representa- 
tives of  sovereign  states  or  commonwealths.  If  we  look  at  the  powers 
of  these  bodies  in  France  and  England,  and  the  powers  of  this  Senate, 
we  shall  find  that  the  latter  are  far  greater  than  the  former.  In  both 
those  countries  they  have  the  legislative  power,  in  both  the  judicial 
with  some  modifications,  and  in  both  perhaps  a  more  extensive  judicial 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  171 

power  than  is  possessed  by  this  Senate ;  but  then  the  vast  and  unde- 
fined and  undefinable  power,  the  treaty-making  power,  or  at  least  a 
participation  in  the  conclusions  of  treaties  with  foreign  powers,  is 
possessed  by  this  Senate,  and  is  possessed  by  neither  of  the  others. 
Another  power,  too,  and  one  of  infinite  magnitude,  that  of  distributing 
the  patronage  of  a  great  nation,  which  is  shared  by  this  Senate  with 
the  executive  magistrate.  In  both  these  respects  we  stand  upon  ground 
different  from  that  occupied  by  the  Houses  of  Peers  of  England  and 
of  France.  And  I  repeat,  that  with  respect  to  the  dignity  which 
ordinarily  prevails  in  this  body,  and  with  respect  to  the  ability  of  its 
members  during  the  long  period  of  my  acquaintance  with  it,  without 
arrogance  or  presumption,  we  may  say,  in  proportion  to  its  numbers, 
the  comparison  would  not  be  disadvantageous  to  us  compared  with  any 
Senate  either  of  ancient  or  modern  times. 

From  "  Benton's  Thirty  Years'  View." 


THE  DEEDS  OF  GENEKAL  TAYLOR. 

JEFFERSON  DAVIS. 

SIR,  it  was  not  alone  in  the  United  States  that  the  military  move- 
ments and  achievements  on  the  Rio  Grande  were  viewed  with  admira- 
tion. The  greatest  captain  of  the  age,  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  the 
moment  he  saw  the  positions  taken  and  the  combinations  made  upon 
the  Rio  Grande, — the  moment  he  saw  the  communication  opened 
between  the  depot  at  Point  Isabel  and  the  garrison  at  Fort  Brown,  by 
that  masterly  movement  of  which  the  battles  of  Palo  Alto  and  Resaca 
de  la  Palma  were  a  part, — exclaimed,  that  General  Taylor  is  a  general 
indeed.  And  yet,  sir,  all  history  is  to  be  rewritten,  all  the  rapture  and 
pride  of  the  country  a,t  the  achievements  -upon  those  bloody  fields  are 
to  disappear,  and  the  light  of  science  to  pale  before  the  criticism  of  that 
senator  by  whom  we  are  told  that  a  little  band  of  mounted  riflemen 
could  have  done  that  which  cost  so  many  American  lives  and  hecatombs 
of  Mexicans. 

I  have  spoken  thus  as  a  simple  duty,  not  from  any  unkindness  to  the 
senator,  but  that  I  might  do  justice  to  many  of  my  comrades,  whose 
dust  now  mingles  with  the  earth  upon  which  they  fought — that  I  might 
not  leave  unredressed  the  wrongs  of  the  buried  dead.  I  have  endeavored 
to  suppress  all  personal  feeling,  though  the  character  of  the  attack  upon 
•jay  friend  and  general  might  have  pardoned  its  indulgence.  It  is  true 
that  sorrow  sharpens  memory,  and  that  many  deeds  of  noblest  self- 
sacrifice,  many  tender  associations,  rise  now  vividly  before  me.  I 
remember  the  purity  of  his  character,  his  vast  and  varied  resources ; 
and  I  remember  how  the  good  and  great  qualities  of  his  heart  were 


THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

equally  and  jointly  exhibited  when  he  took  the  immense  responsibility 
under  which  he  acted  at  the  battle  of  Buena  Vista,  fought  after  he  had 
been  recommended  by  his  senior  general  to  retire  to  Monterey. 

Around  him  stood  those  whose  lives  were  in  his  charge,  whose 
mothers,  fathers,  wives,  and  children  would  look  to  him  for  their 
return :  those  were  there  who  had  shared  his  fortunes  on  other  fields  ; 
some  who,  never  having  seen  a  battle,  were  eager  for  the  combat, 
without  knowing  how  direful  it  would  be;  immediately  about  him 
those  loving  and  beloved,  and  reposing  such  confidence  in  their  com- 
mander that  they  but  waited  his  beck  and  will  to  do  and  dare.  On 
him,  and  on  him  alone,  rested  the  responsibility.  It  was  in  his  power 
to  avoid  it  by  retiring  to  Monterey,  there  to  be  invested  and  captured, 
and  then  justify  himself  under  his  instructions.  He  would  not  do  it, 
but  cast  all  upon  the  die,  resolved  to  maintain  his  country's  honor,  and 
save  his  country's  flag  from  trailing  in  the  dust  of  the  enemy  he  had  so 
often  beaten,  or  close  the  conqueror's  career  as  became  the  soldier.  His 
purpose  never  wavered,  his  determination  never  faltered :  his  country's 
honor  to  be  untarnished,  his  country's  flag  to  triumph,  or  for  himself 
to  find  an  honorable  grave,  was  the  only  alternative  he  considered. 
Under  these  circumstances,  on  the  morning  of  the  23d  of  February, 
that  glorious  but  bloody  conflict  commenced.  It  won  for  him  a  chaplet 
that  it  would  be  a  disgrace  for  an  American  to  mutilate,  and  which  it 
were  an  idle  attempt  to  adorn.  I  leave  it  to  a  grateful  country,  which 
is  conscious  of  his  services,  and  possesses  a  discrimination  that  is  not 
to  be  confounded  by  the  assertions  of  any,  however  high  their  position. 

From  " Speech  in  the  Senate" 


CONSTITUTIONAL   RESPONSIBILITY. 

STEPHEN  A.  DOUGLAS. 

ALL  officers  and  magistrates,  under  the  federal  and  state  govern- 
ments,— executive,  legislative,  judicial,  and  ministerial, — are  required 
to  take  an  oath  to  support  the  constitution,  before  they  can  enter  upon 
the  performance  of  their  respective  duties.  Every  person  born  under 
the  constitution  owes  allegiance  to  it ;  and  every  naturalized  citizen 
takes  an  oath  to  support  it.  Fidelity  to  the  constitution  is  the  only 
passport  to  the  enjoyment  of  rights  under  it.  When  a  senator  elect 
presents  his  credentials,  he  is  not  allowed  to  take  his  seat  until  he 
places  his  hand  upon  the  holy  evangelists,  and  appeals  to  his  God  for 
the  sincerity  of  his  vow  to  support  the  constitution.  He  who  does  this 
with  a  mental  reservation,  or  secret  intention  to  disregard  any  provi- 
sion of  the  constitution,  commits  a  double  crime — is  morally  guilty  of 
perfidy  to  his  God  and  treason  to  his  country. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  173 

If  the  constitution  of  the  United  States  is  to  be  repudiated  upon  the 
ground  that  it  is  repugnant  to  the  divine  law,  where  are  the  friends  of 
freedom  and  Christianity  to  look  for  another  and  a  better  ?  Who  is  to 
be  the  prophet  to  reveal  the  will  of  God  and  establish  a  theocracy 
for  us  ? 

I  will  not  venture  to  inquire  what  are  to  be  the  form  and  principles 
of  the  new  government,  or  to  whom  is  to  be  intrusted  the  execution  of 
its  sacred  functions ;  for,  when  we  decide  that  the  wisdom  of  our  revo- 
lutionary fathers  was  .foolishness,  and  their  piety  wickedness,  and 
destroy  the  only  system  of  self-government  that  has  ever  realized  the 
hopes  of  the  friends  of  freedom,  and  commanded  the  respect  of  man- 
kind, it  becomes  us  to  wait  patiently  until  the  purposes  of  the  latter 
day  saints  shall  be  revealed  unto  us. 

For  my  part,  I  am  prepared  to  maintain  and  preserve  inviolate  the 
constitution  as  it  is,  with  all  its  compromises ;  to  stand  or  fall  by  the 
American  Union,  clinging  with  the  tenacity  of  life  to  all  its  glorious 
memories  of  the  past  and  precious  hopes  of  the  future. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  U.  S.  Senate." 


THE   FRENCH   WAR. 

J.  J.  CRITTENDEN. 

THANK  God,  the  danger  of  this  war  has  passed  by,  and  we  have,  as 
I  believe,  an  almost  certain  assurance  of  reconciliation  and  peace  with 
France.  Such  an  issue  of  this  controversy  cannot  be  regarded  other- 
wise than  as  a  matter  of  public  congratulation.  If  war  had  been  its 
result,  I  should  have  contributed  all  that  was  in  my  humble  power  to 
render  my  country  successful  in  that  war.  War  of  itself  would  have 
been  a  sufficient  reason  for  me  to  take  my  country's  side,  without 
reference  to  its  cause.  But,  sir,  I  must  confess  that  I  should  have  been 
most  loth  to  witness  any  such  war  as  that  with  which  we  have  been 
threatened. 

A  war  with  whom,  and  for  what  ?  A  war  with  France,  our  first,  our 
ancient  ally,  whose  blood  flowed  for  us,  and  with  our  own,  in  the  great 
struggle  that  gave  us  our  freedom  and  made  us  a  nation.  A  war  for 
money !  a  petty,  paltry  sum  of  money !  I  know  of  no  instance,  cer- 
tainly none  among  the  civilized  nations  of  modern  times,  of  a  war 
waged  for  such  an  object;  and  if  it  be  among  the  legitimate  causes  of 
war,  it  is  surely  the  most  inglorious  of  them  all.  It  can  afford  but 
little  of  that  generous  inspiration  which  in  a  noble  cause  gives  to  war 
its  magnanimity  and  its  glory.  War  for  money  must  ever  be  an  igno- 
ble strife.  On  its  barren  fields  the  laurel  cannot  flourish.  In  the  sordid 
contest  but  little  honor  can  be  won,  and  Victory  herself  is  almost 
despoiled  of  her  triumph. 
15* 


174  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

If  we  should  attempt  by  war  to  compel  France  to  pay  the  money  in 
question,  none  who  know  the  two  nations  can  doubt  but  the  contest 
would  be  fierce,  bloody,  and  obstinate.  Suppose,  however,  that  our 
success  is  such  as  finally  to  enable  us  to  dictate  terms  to  France,  and 
to  oblige  her  to  pay  the  money.  Imagine,  Mr.  President,  that  the 
little  purse,  the  prize  of  war  and  carnage,  is  at  last  obtained.  There  it 
is,  sir,  stained  with  the  blood  of  Americans,  and  of  Frenchmen,  their 
ancient  friends.  Could  you,  sir,  behold  or  pocket  that  blood-stained 
purse  without  some  emotions  of  pain  and  remorse  ? 


JEWISH   DISABILITY. 

LORD  JOHN  RUSSELL 

You  say  that  the  legislature  ought  to  be  a  Christian  legislature  ; 
that  the  parliament  ought  to  be  a  Christian  parliament ;  but  do  you 
not  say  that  the  nation  is  a  Christian  nation,  and  that  the  British 
people  are  a  Christian  people  ?  Why,  in  the  same  sense  in  which  you 
say  that  the  nation  is  a  Christian  nation,  though  there  may  be  thirty 
thousand  Jews  among  them,  you  might  say  that  the  parliament  was  a- 
Christian  parliament,  although,,  among  the  six  hundred  and  fifty-six 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons,  there  might  be  six  persons  pro- 
fessing the  Jewish  religion.  I  therefore  wish  that  this  ground  of 
argument  were  not  taken  by  those  whose  object  it  is  to  prevent  the 
Jews  entering  into  parliament ;  because  the  general  character  of  the 
parliament  must  depend,  now,  as  in  former  times,  on  the  sentiments 
of  the  people  at  large,  and  on  the  sentiments  of  those  who  represent 
them  ;  and  it  is  not  by  inserting  seven  words  in  an  act  of  parliament, — 
it  is  not  by  a  mechanical  contrivance  of  this  kind, — that  you  can  secure 
religious  obligation. 

If  I  am  asked  what  are  the  prevailing  reasons  for  the  motion  that  I 
propose,  I  appeal,  in  the  first  place,  to  the  constitution  of  these  realms  ; 
I  appeal  to  that  constitution  which  is  intended  to  give  to  every  man 
those  rewards,  that  honor,  that  estimation  to  which  his  character  and 
talents  may  entitle  him.  I  appeal  to  that  constitution  which  is  the 
enemy  of  restriction  or  disqualification ;  to  that  constitution  which,  by 
the  abrogation  of  the  laws  existing  a  few  years  ago,  has  put  an  end 
even  to  those  cases  of  exception  which  our  ancestors  thought,  upon  the 
ground  of  imminent  danger  to  the  state  and  church,  they  were  justified 
in  imposing.  I  ask  you,  in  the  name  of  that  constitution,  to  take  away 
this  last  remnant  of  religious  persecution,  to  show  that  you  are  not 
influenced  by  the  numbers  or  terrors  that  might  make  that  which  was 
an  act  of  political  justice,  an  act  of  political  necessity.  I  ask  you,  in 
the  name  of  that  constitution,  to  admit  the  Jews  to  all  the  privileges, 
to  all  the  rights,  of  which  those  who  are  not  excluded  from  them,  are 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  175 

so  justly  proud  ;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  that  you  cannot  judge  of  the 
feelings  of  those  who  are  excluded,  by  the  number  of  those  who  might 
wish  for  seats  in  parliament,  or  who  might  aspire  to  hold  office  under 
the  crown.  Many  a  man  who  would  not  seek  for  either,  would  be 
content  to  pass  his  days  in  obscurity,  and  would  wish  for  no  other 
advantages  than  those  of  private  life;  but  he  feels  the  galling  degra- 
dation, the  brand  that  is  imposed  upon  him,  when  he  is  told  that  men 
of  all  other  classes,  men  of  the  Established  Church,  Protestant  dissent- 
ers and  Roman  Catholics,  may  all  enter  within  these  walls,  may  all 
enjoy  those  advantages ;  but  that  he  belongs  to  a  sect  which,  by  the 
law  and  constitution,  is  proscribed  and  degraded. 

But  I  would  make  a  still  higher  appeal.  I  would  make  an  appeal  to 
the  principles  of  that  Christianity  which  has  so  long  been  the  law  of 
the  land.  I  appeal  to  you,  then,  in  the  name  of  that  religion  which  is 
a  religion  of  charity  and  love,  "  to  do  unto  others  as  you  would  they 
should  do  unto  you." — I  ask  you  why  it  is,  that,  when  we  are  taught 
by  examples  and  parables,  that  we  ought  to  love  our  neighbors,  it  is 
not  priests  or  Levites  who  are  singled  out  as  instances  for  our  approba- 
tion and  admiration ;  but  it  is  one  of  a  proscribed  sect, — one  who 
belonged  to  what  was  then  the  refuse  of  all  nations  ?  I  ask  why  is  it 
that  we  are  taught  that  all  men  are  brothers, — that  there  is  no  part  of 
the  human  race,  however  divided  from  us  by  feelings  or  color,  that 
ought  to  be  separated  from  us  ?  but  that  all  belong  to  the  family  of 
man,  and  ought  to  be  loved  as  brothers.  I  ask  you,  therefore,  in  the 
name  of  that  constitution  which  is  the  constitution  of  freedom,  of 
liberty,  and  of  justice, — I  ask  you  in  the  name  of  that  religion  which 
is  the  religion  of  peace  and  good  will  towards  men, — to  agree  to  the 
motion  which  I  have  the  honor  to  make,  "  That  the  House  should 
resolve  itself  into  a  committee  on  the  removal  of  the  civil  and  political 
disabilities  affecting  her  Majesty's  Jewish  subjects/' 

From  "  Speech  in  Parliament." 


AID   TO   HUNGARY. 

KOSSUTH. 

I  BELIEVE  there  is  the  hand  of  God  in  history.  You  assigned  a 
place  in  this  hall  of  freedom  to  the  memory  of  Chatham,  for  having 
been  just  to  America,  by  opposing  the  stamp  act,  which  awoke  your 
nation  to  resistance. 

Now  the  people  of  England  thinks  as  once  Pitt,  the  elder,  thought, 
and  honors,  with  deep  reverence,  the  memory  of  your  Washington. 

But  suppose  the  England  of  Lord  Chatham's  time  had  thought  as 
Chatham  did  j  and  his  burning  words  had  moved  the  English  aristoc- 


176          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

racy  to  be  just  towards  the  colonies ;  those  four  men  there,  had  not 
signed  your  country's  independence;  Washington  were  perhaps  a 
name  "  unknown,  unhonored,  and  unsung;"  and  this  proud  constella- 
tion of  your  glorious  stars,  had  perhaps  not  yet  risen  on  mankind's 
sky, — instead  of  being  now  about  to  become  the  sun  of  freedom.  It  is 
thus  Providence  acts. 

Let  me  hope,  sir,  that  Hungary's  unmerited  fate  was  necessary  in 
order  that  your  stars  should  become  such  a  sun. 

Sir,  I  stand,  perhaps,  upon  the  very  spot  where  your  Washington 
stood, — a  second  Cincinnatus,  consummating  the  greatest  act  of  his 
life.  The  walls  which  now  listen  to  my  humble  words,  listened  once 
to  the  words  of  his  republican  virtue,  immortal  by  their  very  modesty. 
Let  me,  upon  this  sacred  spot,  express  my  confident  belief  that  if  he 
stood  here  now,  he  would  tell  you  that  his  prophecy  is  fulfilled ;  that 
you  are  mighty  enough  to  defy  any  power  on  earth,  in  a  just  cause  ; 
and  he  would  tell  you  that  there  never  was,  and  never  will  be,  a  cause 
more  just  than  the  cause  of  Hungary,  being,  as  it  is,  the  cause  of 
oppressed  humanity. 

Sir,  I  thank  the  Senate  of  Maryland,  in  my  country's  name,  for  the 
honor  of  your  generous  welcome.  Sir,  I  entreat  the  Senate  kindly  to 
remember  my  downtrodden  fatherland.  Sir,  I  bid  you  farewell,  feeling 
heart  and  soul  purified,  and  the  resolution  of  my  desires  strengthened, 
by  the  very  air  of  this  ancient  city. 


THE  LIMIT  OF   INTERVENTION. 

JUDGE  DUER. 

THERE  are  special  reasons  why  we  should  unite  in  praise  and  honor 
to  our  illustrious  guest.  All  who  have  studied  his  actions  and  his 
speeches,  and  who  have  formed  a  right  estimate  of  his  character,  will 
concede  this  to  be  true.  This  estimate  must  not  be  founded  on  a  partial 
view.  All  his  titles  to  approbation  must  be  united.  He  must  not 
simply  be  regarded  as  the  bold  and  wise  asserter  of  his  country's 
freedom.  Neither  his  affection,  nor  his  hopes,  are  limited  to  his  own 
country.  He  is  devoted  to  the  cause  of  the  people  against  their  op- 
pressors,— deeply  impressed  with  the  necessity  of  raising  his  people 
politically  and  socially.  He  is  a  republican  ;  and  even  in  England,  he 
frankly  avowed  himself  to  be  such.  His  speeches  and  proclamations 
at  home, — and,  above  all,  his  magnificent  discourses  delivered  in 
England,  conclusively  prove  that  he  is  endowed  with  all  the  attributes 
of  an  orator  and  a  statesman.  He  is  fitted  by  his  knowledge,  and  his 
wisdom,  to  sway  the  councils  and  rule  the  destinies  of  a  nation. 

Nor  is  this  all.  These  all  prove  that  he  is,  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
word,  a  conservative  statesman, — that  he  is  resolved  to  maintain  those 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  177 

time-hallowed  institutions  on  which  the  peace  of  society  depends.  He 
is  a  republican; — but  he  is  not  a  Jacobin, — not  a  socialist.  He  is  a 
republican  of  the  true  color, — the  color  of  our  boundless  skies  and  a 
protecting  heaven, — not  of  the  red  of  France,  reminding  us  of  a  Marat, 
a  Danton,  or  a  Robespierre.  He  sees  and  he  condemns  the  abuses  that 
exist  under  the  old  monarchies  of  Europe ;  and  he  must  know  that, 
until  these  forms  be  changed,  those  abuses  must  still  exist.  He  is 
equally  a  foe  to  those  insane  theories  which  seek  to  destroy  the  institu- 
tions of  society, — property,  marriage,  and  all  the  relations  of  home. 
His  principles  are  not  those  of  socialism  ; — and  it  is  a  calumny  to  say 
they  are.  I  have  studied  his  actions  and  his  speeches ;  and  if  there  is 
truth  in  man,  his  mind  is  not  only  very  profoundly  philosophical,  but 
deeply  religious.  The  assertions  to  the  contrary  ought  to  be  repelled, 
as  the  vilest  calumny. 

The  freedom  he  seeks  to  establish  is  that  which  we  enjoy, — the 
freedom  of  a  well-balanced  representative  democracy.  In  short;  the 
freedom  that  he  values  is  that  which  it  is  the  paramount  duty  of  your 
judges  to  watch  over  and  preserve.  Here  it  is  proper  their  voices 
should  be  heard  in  the  national  chorus  of  applause  that  has  greeted 
his  arrival, — a  chorus  that,  I  hope,  each  hour  will  contribute  to  swell. 
It  is  the  voice  of  a  nation  that  has  welcomed  him  to  our  shores.  It  has 
been  a  chorus  of  perfect  unanimity  ;  for  the  exceptions  had  been  too 
few  to  deserve  a  notice. — The  moderation  he  has  shown,  the  construc- 
tive wisdom,  as  well  as  the  ardor  he  has  displayed,  and  the  admirable 
sentiments  of  his  discourse, — it  is  these  that  have  impressed  on  the 
minds  of  the  people  a  deep  conviction  of  his  moral  elements  and  his 
intellectual  power. 

I  feel  bound  to  say,  however,  to  prevent  misconstruction  on  my  own 
behalf  as  well  as  that  of  a  large  number  of  my  brethren  of  the  bench 
and  the  bar,— that  I  must  not  be  understood  as  assenting,  or  wish  to 
be  understood  as  assenting,  to  the  sentiments  our  guest  has  submitted 
in  regard  to  the  policy  of  our  government.  Nothing  has  struck  me 
with  so  much  admiration  as  his  noble  frankness.  I  feel  that  the  same 
frankness  is  due  in  return.  I  venture  to  say,  that,  if  I  cannot  be  heard, 
mischief  has  been  already  done,  and  Americans  could  not  be  listened 
to.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  enter  upon  any  discussion  of  debatable 
questions.  I  wish  only  to  say  that  the  questions  which  the  sentiments 
of  our  guest  suggest,  are  regarded  by  many  as  the  most  deeply  in- 
teresting of  any  that  have  ever  been  raised  since  the  foundation  of  our 
government.  And  many  of  us  doubt  whether  it  is  safe  that  such 
propositions  should  be  first  submitted  to  popular  assemblies, — when 
reasons  only  on  one  side  are  heard.  They  involve  a  sudden  and  a 
violent  departure  from  the  settled  policy  of  our  government, — a  policy 
not  founded  on  a  temporary  expediency,  but  on  the  principles  of  our 

M 


178          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

constitution.  Such  propositions  ought  not  to  be  adopted  until  under- 
stood in  all  their  consequences, — until  subbcted  to  a  thorough  discus- 
sion. 

From  "  Speech  at  the  Dinner  given  by  the  Bar  to  Kossuth." 


THE   CAUSE   OF  HUNGARY. 

R.  M.  T.  HUNTER. 

WHEN  I  first  heard,  sir,  that  the  Hungarian  patriots  had  been  forced 
to  take  refuge  with  the  Turk,  and  seek  at  his  hands  the  charity  of  an 
asylum  which  Christendom  refused  them,  I  could  but  recall  the  day 
when  that  country  was  the  bulwark  of  Christendom  against  the  Infidel, 
and  Hunniades  made  good  its  title  to  that  debatable  land  between  the 
Crescent  and  the  Cross.  When  I  saw  who  the  oppressor  was,  whose 
foot  was  upon  the  neck  of  bleeding  Hungary,  I  could  but  recur  to  the 
time  when  a  noble  ancestress  of  his,  who  to  the  loveliness  of  woman 
added  the  soul  of  a  Caesar,  threw  herself  upon  those  people  for  succor 
and  protection.  The  scene  arose  before  me,  as  it  appears  on  the  pic- 
tured page  of  Macaulay,  in  which  she  is  represented  upon  horseback, 
weak  from  recent  suffering,  yet  strong  in  will,  flushed  under  the  weight 
of  St.  Stephen's  iron  crown,  and  after  a  fashion  of  her  race,  which 
would  have  been  deemed  extravagant  by  any  but  an  Oriental  imagina- 
tion, waving  the  sword  of  state  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  heavens, 
and  bidding  defiance  to  the  earth. 

But  hard  as  has  been  the  lesson  taught  the  Hungarian  in  his  recent 
struggles,  it  would  do  no  good  for  foreign  powers  to  interpose  in  his 
favor,  and  give  him  armed  assistance ;  still  less  would  it  be  of  any  avail 
to  offer  him  such  a  resolution  of  sympathy  as  this.  There  is  not,  sir, 
on  the  page  of  history,  an  instance  of  a  nation  which  has  maintained 
its  liberty  by  foreign  aid  ;  for  the  moment  the  protecting  hand  is  with- 
drawn, it  must  fall,  unless  it  has  some  internal  resources — some  means 
within  itself  of  maintaining  its  independence,-  and  for  self-defence.  I 
have  said,  sir,  that  this  resolution  of  sympathy  will  do  the  Hungarian 
cause  no  good.  But  is  that  enough  to  say?  Is  there  no  danger  that  it 
may  do  that  brave  but  unfortunate  people  some  harm  ?  It  has  been 
said,  by  wise  and  observing  men,  that  the  final  catastrophe  of  Poland 
was  probably  hastened  by  imprudent  speeches  made  in  the  British 
House  of  Commons  and  the  French  Chamber  of  Deputies.  It  is  said 
that  those  imprudent  but  sympathizing  speeches  awakened  false  hopes 
in  Poland,  and  led  to  unwise  movements  there. 

Is  there  no  danger  that  such  a  course  of  action  as  is  proposed  Here 
might  give  rise  to  unfounded  hopes  in  Hungary,  or  increase,  perhaps, 
their  sufferings  by  irritating  those  who  govern  them  ?  But,  sir,  be  that 
as  it  may  with  regard  to  Hungary,  I  am  not  prepared  to  take  this  step 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  179 

from  considerations  of  what  is  due  to  my  own  country.  I  give  Hungary 
my  best  wishes,  my  earnest  sympathy;  but  I  prefer  my  own  country 
to  any  other,  and  I  cannot  sacrifice  its  interests  for  those  of  another. 
I  was  sent  here  to  legislate,  not  for  foreign  nations,  but  my  own.  I 
will  not  abandon  my  own  duties  in  the  attempt  to  discharge  those  of 
another.  It  would  doubtless  be  pleasing  to  any  generous  mind  to 
indulge  the  demands  of  sympathy ;  yet,  sir,  truth  and  justice  are  of 
higher  obligation,  and  ought  to  be  of  higher  consideration  still. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  Senate." 


CATILINE   DENOUNCED. 

CICERO. 

You  see  this  day,  0  Romans,  the  republic,  and  all  your  lives,  your 
goods,  your  fortunes,  your  wives  and  children,  this  home  of  most  illus- 
trious empire,  'this  most  fortunate  and  beautiful  city,  by  the  great  love 
of  the  immortal  gods  for  you,  by  my  labors  and  counsels  and  dangers, 
snatched  from  fire  and  sword,  and  almost  from  the  very  jaws  of  fate, 
and  preserved  and  restored  to  you. 

And  if  those  days  on  which  we  are  preserved  are  not  less  pleasant 
to  us,  or  less  illustrious,  than  those  on  which  we  are  born,  because  the 
joy  of  being  saved  is  certain,  the  good  fortune  of  being  born  uncertain, 
and  because  we  are  born  without  feeling  it,  but  we  are  preserved  with 
great  delight ;  ay,  since  we  have,  by  our  affection  and  by  our  good 
report,  raised  to  the  immortal  gods  that  Romulus  who  built  this  city, 
he,  too,  who  has  preserved  this  city,  built  by  him,  and  embellished  as 
you  see  it,  ought  to  be  held  in  honor  by  you  and  your  posterity  ;  for  we 
have  extinguished  flames  which  were  almost  laid  under  and  placed 
around  the  temples  and  shrines,  and  houses  and  walls  of  the  whole 
city ;  we  have  turned  the  edge  of  swords  drawn  against  the  republic, 
nnd  have  turned  aside 'their  points  from  your  throats.  And  since  all 
this  has  been  displayed  in  the  senate,  and  made  manifest,  and  detected 
by  me,  I  will  now  explain  it  briefly,  that  you,  0  citizens,  that  are  as 
yet  ignorant  of  it,  and  are  in  suspense,  may  be  able  to  see  how  great 
the  danger  was,  how  evident  and  by  what  means  it  was  detected  and 
arrested.  First  of  all,  since  Catiline,  a  few  days  ago,  burst  out  of  the 
city,  when  he  had  left  behind  the  companions  of  his  wickedness,  the 
active  leaders  of  this  infamous  war,  I  have  continually  watched  and 
taken  care,  0  Romans,  of  the  means  by  which  we  might  be  safe  amid 
nuch  great  and  such  carefully  concealed  treachery. 

From  "  Third  Oration  against  Catiline." 


180  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


BENEFICIAL   EFFECTS   OF   THE  WAR. 

E.  A.  WASHBURNE,  D.  D. 

DISCIPLINE  is  the  law  of  all  mental  and  moral  growth ;  but  war 
teaches  it  as  a  first  necessity.  It  is  there  the  visible  organ  of  law. 
The  well-ordered  camp,  the  daily  drill,  the  rigid  penalty  of  transgres- 
sion, cannot  be  neglected  without  loss  of  power  in  the  battle-field.  It 
is  hard  to  cashier  an  officer  for  a  slight  misdemeanor  ;  to  shoot  a  sleep- 
ing sentinel ;  but  it  is  worse  to  bear  the  defeat  of  an  army.  Even  the 
little  matters  of  dress  and  soldierly  bearing  have  their  essential  uses. 
The  trim  private,  with  his  shining  musket  and  pipe-clayed  belt,  will 
feel  more  fully  his  responsibility  than  in  a  rusty  uniform ;  and  the 
touch  of  his  hat  to. the  officer  is  the  symbol  of  duty.  There  is  power 
in  such  military  rule  that  must  enter  into  character.  It  is  easy  to  say 
that  it  makes  men  machines  ;  but,  apart  from  the  fact  that  there  is  in 
the  army  far  less  of  the  high-collared  stiffness  of  old  time,  it  is  difficult 
to  change  the  free-and-easy  American  into  a  machine.  It  may  be  done 
with  the  stolid  Russian,  but  not  with  us.  Nay,  we  are  told  that  our 
soldiers  are  better,  because  they  are  never  mere  guns  and  bayonets,  but 
retain  their  individual  intelligence.  They  want  only  the  training.  A 
living  man  with  the  accuracy  of  the  machine  is  the  very  ideal  of  dis- 
cipline. And  this  education  will,  we  are  assured,  pass  into  our  social 
character.  It  is  a  wholesome  change  for  our  young  men  of  luxurious 
habits  to  leave  for  a  while  their  lounge  in  the  street,  their  tailors,  and 
the  solemn  ritual  of  the  dining-table,  with  its  ten  courses  and  closing 
glass  of  Cura9oa,  for  the  city  of  tents,  where  they  must  sleep  hardly, 
and  brave  the  storm  without  an  umbrella,  and  themselves  wash  their 
few  flannel  shirts,  and  say  over  their  rations  of  beef  and  black  coffee, 
like  the  Persian  over  his  figs,  "  Of  how  great  pleasure  have  I  been 
ignorant !" 

But  again,  we  are  a  boastful  people, — a  people  of  vain  and  hasty 
experiment  in  trade,  in  social  institutions.  War  is  a  terrible  destroyer 
of  all  shams.  It  deals  in  sharp  realities.  The  epauletted  Bobadil  is 
soon  cashiered  ;  the  blunder  of  a  pretentious  general  is  visited  with  a 
speedy  reward.  Lamachus  said  to  a  captain  who  asked  a  second  trial, 
"  No  room  in  war  for  a  miscarriage."  We  may  in  time  of  peace  have 
our  quacks  in  medicine,  and  religion,  and  trade  ;  we  can  afford  to  live 
on  an  inflated  credit,  and  once  in  seven  years  have  a  general  explosion  ; 
but  not  so  now.  This  necessity  of  the  times  has  had  already  its  admi- 
rable effect  on  the  business  world, — has  done  away  with  promissory 
notes  and  brought  us  to  the  cash-basis  of  honesty.  But  it  will,  we  be- 
lieve, enter  most  fully  into  the  very  texture  of  the  national  mind.  It 
will  give  us  a  severer  education  in  science,  and  art,  and  legislation.  It- 
will  change  us  into  a  people  of  solid  aims  and  abiding  habits. 


HISTORICAL,  BIOGRAPHICAL,  AND 
DESCRIPTIVE. 


HISTORY  PROPERLY  WRITTEN. 

LORD  MACATOAY. 

THE  instruction  derived  from  history  properly  written  would  be  of  a 
vivid  and  practical  character.  It  would  be  received  by  the  imagination 
as  well  as  by  the  reason.  It  would  be  not  merely  traced  on  the  mind, 
but  branded  into  it.  Many  truths,  too,  would  be  learned,  which  can  be 
learned  in  no  other  manner.  As  the  history  of  states  is  generally  writ- 
ten, the  greatest  and  most  momentous  revolutions  seem  to  come  upon 
them  like  supernatural  inflictions,  without  warning  or  cause.  But  the 
fact  is,  that  such  revolutions  are  almost  always  the  consequence  of 
moral  changes,  which  have  gradually  passed  on  the  mass  of  the  com- 
munity, and  which  ordinarily  proceed  far  before  their  progress  is  indi- 
cated by  any  public  measure.  An  intimate  knowledge  of  the  domestic 
history  of  nations  is  therefore  absolutely  necessary  to  the  prognosis  of 
political  events.  A  narrative  defective  in  this  respect  is  as  useless  as  a 
medical  treatise  which  should  pass  by  all  the  symptoms  attendant  on 
the  early  stage  of  a  disease,  and  mention  only  what  occurs  when  the 
patient  is  beyond  the  reach  of  remedies. 

An  historian,  such  as  we  have  been  attempting  to  describe,  would 
indeed  be  an  intellectual  prodigy.  In  his  mind,  powers,  scarcely  com- 
patible with  each  other,  must  be  tempered  into  an  exquisite  harmony. 
We  shall  sooner  see  another  Shakspeare,  or  another  Homer.  The 
highest  excellence  to  which  any  single  faculty  can  be  brought  would 
be  less  surprising  than  such  a  happy  and  delicate  combination  of 
qualities.  Yet  the  contemplation  of  imaginary  models  is  not  an  un- 
pleasant or  useless  employment  of  the  mind.  It  cannot  indeed  produce 
perfection,  but  it  produces  improvement,  and  nourishes  that  generous 
and  liberal  fastidiousness,  which  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  strongest 
sensibility  to  merit,  and  which,  while  it  exalts  our  conceptions  of  the 
art,  does  not  render  us  unjust  to  the  artist. 

From  "  Essay  m  History.'' 

16  (181) 


182  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

CIVIL   AND   KELIGIOUS   LIBEKTY. 

WILLIAM  SMYTH. 

MARK  the  difference  between  Europe  and  Asia.  What  is  it,  what 
has  it  ever  been  ?  Slavery  in  the  one,  and  freedom  in  the  other.  Take 
another  view,  more  modern  and  more  domestic.  Mist  is  in  the  valley, 
and  sterility  is  on  the  mountain  of  the  Highlander  ;  his  land  is  the  land 
of  tempest  and  of  gloom,  but  there  is  intelligence  in  his  looks  and  glad- 
ness in  his  song.  On  the  contrary,  incense  is  in  the  gale,  and  the 
laughing  light  of  Nature  is  in  the  landscape  of  the  Grecian  island ;  but 

"  Why  do  its  tuneful  echoes  languish, 
Mute  but  to  the  voice  of  anguish  ?" 

Yet  where  was  it  that  once  flourished  the  heroes,  the  sages,  and  the 
orators  of  antiquity  ?  What  is  there  of  sublimity  and  beauty  in  our 
moral  feelings,  or  in  our  works  of  art,  that  is  not  stamped  with  the 
impression  of  their  genius  ? 

Give  civil  and  religious  liberty,  you  give  everything, — knowledge 
and  science,  heroism  and  honor,  virtue  and  power.  Deny  them,  and 
you  deny  everything :  in  vain  are  the  gifts  of  nature :  there  is  no 
harvest  in  the  fertility  of  the  soil ;  there  is  no  cheerfulness  in  the  radi- 
.ance  of  the  sky  ;  there  is  no  thought  in  the  understanding  of  man  ;  and 
there  is  in  his  heart  no  hope :  the  human  animal  sinks  and  withers ; 
abused,  disinherited,  stripped  of  the  attributes  of  his  kind,  and  no 
longer  formed  after  the  image  of  his  God. 

From  "  Historical  Lectures  at  Cambridge." 


ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA. 

WILLIAM  SMYTH. 

I  KNOW  not  how  any  friend  to  his  species,  much  less  any  English- 
man, can  cease  to  wish  with  the  most  earnest  anxiety  for  the  success 
of  the  great  experiment  to  which  I  have  alluded,  for  the  success  of  the 
constitution  of  America.  I  see  not,  in  like  manner,  how  any  friend  to 
his  species,  much  less  any  American,  can  forbear  for  a  moment  to  wish 
for  a  continuance  of  the  constitution  of  England, — that  the  Revolution 
of  1688  should  for  ever  answer  all  its  important  purposes  for  England, 
as  the  Revolution  of  1776  has  hitherto  done  for  America.  What  efforts 
can  be  made  for  the  government  of  mankind  so  reasonable  as  these, — a 
limited  monarchy  and  a  limited  republic  ?  Add  to  this  that  the  success 
of  the  cause  of  liberty  in  the  two  countries  cannot  but  be  of  the  greatest 
advantage  to  each, — a  limited  monarchy  and  a  limited  republic  being 
well  fitted,  by  their  comparison  and  separate  happiness,  each  to  correct 
the  peculiar  tendencies  to  evil  which  must  necessarily  be  found  in  the 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  183 

other.  Successful,  therefore,  be  both,  and  while  the  records  of  history 
last,  be  they  both  successful !  that  they  may  eternally  hold  up  to  man- 
kind the  lessons  of  practical  freedom,  and  explain  to  them  the  only 
secret  that  exists  of  all  national  prosperity  and  happiness,  the  sum  and 
substance  of  which  must  for  ever  consist  in  mild  government  and  tole- 
rant religion, — that  is,  rationally  understood,  in  civil  and  religious 
liberty. 

From  " Historical  Lectures  at  Cambridge" 


ADDISON'S  HYMNS. 

W.  M.  THACKERAY. 

WHEN  Addison  looks  from  the  world  whose  weaknesses  he  describes 
so  benevolently,  up  to  the  heaven  which  shines  over  us  all,  I  can 
hardly  fancy  a  human  face  lighted  up  with  a  more  serene  rapture :  a 
human  intellect  thrilling  with  a  purer  love  and  adoration  than  Joseph 
Addison's. 

It  seems  to  me  his  verses  shine  like  the  stars.  They  shine  out  of  a 
great  deep  calm.  When  he  turns  to  heaven,  a  Sabbath  comes  over 
that  man's  mind :  and  his  face  lights  up  from  it  with  a  glory  of  thanks 
and  prayer.  His  sense  of  religion  stirs  through  his  whole  being.  In 
the  fields,  in  the  town  :  looking  at  the  birds  in  the  trees :  at  the  children 
in  the  streets :  in  the  morning  or  in  the  moonlight :  over  his  books  in 
his  own  room  :  in  a  happy  party  at  a  country  merry-making  or  a  town 
assembly,  good-will  and  peace  to  God's  creatures,  and  love  and  awe  of 
Him  who  made  them,  fill  his  pure  heart  and  shine  from  his  kind  face. 
If  Swift's  life  was  the  most  wretched,  I  think  Addison's  was  one  of  the 
most  enviable.  A  life  prosperous  and  beautiful — a  calm  death — an 
immense  fame  and  affection  afterwards  for  his  happy  and  spotless 
name. 

From  "  English  Humorists." 


FIELDING'S  FAME. 

W.  M.  THACKERAY. 

RICHARDSON'S  sickening  antipathy  for  Harry  Fielding  is  quite  as 
natural  as  the  other's  laughter  and  contempt  at  the  sentimentalist.  I 
have  not  learned  that  these  likings  and  dislikings  have  ceased  in  the 
present  day :  and  every  author  must  lay  his  account  not  only  to  mis- 
representation, but  to  honest  enmity  among  critics,  and  to  being  hated 
and  abused  for  good  as  well  as  for  bad  reasons.  Richardson  disliked 
Fielding's  works  quite  honestly :  Walpole  quite  honestly  spoke  of  them 
as  vulgar  and  stupid.  Their  squeamish  stomachs  sickened  at  the 


184  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

rough  fare  and  the  rough  guests  assembled  at  Fielding's  jolly  revel. 
Indeed  the  cloth  might  have  been  cleaner :  and  the  dinner  and  the 
company  were  scarce  such  as  suited  a  dandy.  The  kind  and  wise  old 
Johnson  would  not  sit  down  with  him.  But  a  greater  scholar  than 
Johnson  could  afford  to  admire  that  astonishing  genius  of  Harry 
Fielding :  and  we  all  know  the  lofty  panegyric  which  Gibbon  wrote  of 
him,  and  which  remains  a  towering  monument  to  the  great  novelist's 
memory.  "  Our  immortal  Fielding,"  Gibbon  writes,  "  was  of  the 
younger  branch  of  the  Earls  of  Denbigh,  who  drew  their  origin  from 
the  Counts  of  Hapsburgh.  The  successors  of  Charles  V.  may  disdain 
their  brethren  of  England:  but  the  romance  of '  Tom  Jones/  that 
exquisite  picture  of  human  manners,  will  outlive  the  palace  of  the 
Escurial  and  the  Imperial  Eagle  of  Austria."  There  can  be  no  gain- 
saying the  sentence  of  this  great  judge.  To  have  your  name  mentioned 
by  Gibbon,  is  like  having  it  written  on  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  Pil- 
grims from  all  the  world  admire  and  behold  it. 

From  "  English  Humorists." 


JOHN  LOCKE   AND  WILLIAM   PENN. 

GEORGE  BANCROFT. 

LOCKE  says  plainly,  that,  but  for  rewards  and  punishments  beyond 
the  grave,  "  it  is  certainly  right  to  eat  and  drink,  and  to  enjoy  what  we 
delight  in ;"  Penn,  like  Plato  and  Fenelon,  maintained  the  doctrine  so 
terrible  to  despots,  that  God  is  to  be  loved  for  his  own  sake,  and  virtue 
practised  for  its  intrinsic  loveliness.  Locke  derives  the  idea  of  infinity 
from  the  senses,  describes  it  as  purely  negative,  and  attributes  it  to 
nothing  but  space,  duration,  and  number ;  Penn  derived  the  idea  from 
the  soul,  and  ascribed  it  to  truth,  and  virtue,  and  God.  Locke  declares 
immortality  a  matter  with  which  reason  has  nothing  to  do,  and  that 
revealed  truth  must  be  sustained  by  outward  signs  and  visible  acts  of 
power ;  Penn  saw  truth  by  its  own  light,  and  summoned  the  soul  to 
bear  witness  to  its  own  glory.  Locke  believed  "not  so  many  men  in 
wrong  opinions  as  is  commonly  supposed,  because  the  greatest  part  have 
no  opinions  at  all,  and  do  not  know  what  they  contend  for  •"  Penn  like- 
wise vindicated  the  many,  but  it  was  truth  was  the  common  inheritance 
of  the  race.  Locke,  in  his  love  of  tolerance,  inveighed  against  the 
methods  of  persecution  as  "  Popish  practices ;"  Penn  censured  no  sect, 
but  condemned  bigotry  of  all  sorts  as  inhuman.  Locke,  as  an  American 
lawgiver,  dreaded  a  too  numerous  democracy,  and  reserved  all  power  to 
wealth  and  the  feudal  proprietors ;  Penn  believed  that  God  is  in  every 
conscience,  his  light  in  every  soul ;  and,  therefore,  stretching  out  his 
arms,  he  built — such  are  his  own  words — "a  free  colony  for  all  man- 
kind." This  is  the  praise  of  William  Penn,  that,  in  an  age  which  had 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  185 

seen  a  popular  revolution  shipwreck  popular  liberty  among  selfish 
factions ;  which  had  seen  Hugh  Peters  and  Henry  Vane  perish  by  the 
hangman's  cord  and  the  axe ;  in  an  age  when  Sidney  nourished  the 
pride  of  patriotism  rather  than  the  sentiment  of  philanthropy,  when 
Russell  stood  for  the  liberties  of  his  order,  and  not  for  new  enfranchise- 
ments, when  Harrington,  and  Shaftesbury,  and  Locke,  thought  govern- 
ment should  rest  on  property, — Penn  did  not  despair  of  humanity,  and, 
though  all  history  and  experience  denied  the  sovereignty  of  the  people, 
dared  to  cherish  the  noble  idea  of  man's  capacity  for  self-government. 
Conscious  that  there  was  no  room  for  its  exercise  in  England,  the  pure 
enthusiast,  like  Calvin  and  Descartes,  a  voluntary  exile,  was  come  to 
the  banks  of  the  Delaware  to  institute  "  THE  HOLT  EXPERIMENT." 

From  "  History  of  the  United  States." 


MILTON  AND  DKYDEN. 

LORD  MACATJLAY. 

WE  are,  on  the  whole,  inclined  to  regret  that  Dryden  did  not  accom- 
plish his  purpose  of  writing  an  epic  poem.  It  certainly  would  not 
have  been  a  work  of  the  highest  rank.  It  would  not  have  rivalled  the 
Iliad,  the  Odyssey,  or  the  Paradise  Lost ;  but  it  would  have  been 
superior  to  the  productions  of  Apollonius,  Lucan,  or  Statius,  and  not 
inferior  to  the  Jerusalem  Delivered.  It  would  probably  have  been  a 
vigorous  narrative,  animated  with  something  of  the  spirit  of  the  old 
romances,  enriched  with  much  splendid  description,  and  interspersed 
with  fine  declamations  and  disquisitions.  The  danger  of  Dryden  would 
have  been  from  aiming  too  high  ;  from  dwelling  too  much,  for  example, 
on  his  angels  of  kingdoms,  and  attempting  a  competition  with  that 
great  writer,  who  in  his  own  time  had  so  incomparably  succeeded  in 
representing  to  us  the  sights  and  sounds  of  another  world.  To  Milton, 
and  to  Milton  alone  belonged  the  secrets  of  the  great  deep,  the  beach 
of  sulphur,  the  ocean  of  fire ;  the  palaces  of  the  fallen  dominations, 
glimmering  through  the  everlasting  shade,  the  silent  wilderness  of 
verdure  and  fragrance  where  armed  angels  kept  watch  over  the  sleep 
of  the  first  lovers,  the  portico  of  diamond,  the  sea  of  jasper,  the 
sapphire  pavement  empurpled  with  celestial  roses,  and  the  infinite 
ranks  of  the  Cherubim,  blazing  with  adamant  and  gold.  The  council, 
the  tournament,  the  procession,  the  crowded  cathedral,  the  camp,  the 
guard-room,  the  chaise,  were  the  proper  scenes  for  Dryden. 

From  "  Essay  on  Dryden." 

16* 


186  THE    SELECT   ACADEMIC    SPEAKER. 

WONDERS   OF   ENGLISH   KULE   IN   INDIA. 

LORD  MAHON. 

IF  in  some  fairy  tale  or  supernatural  legend  we  were  to  read  of  an 
island,  seated  far  in  the  northern  seas,  so  ungenial  in  its  climate  and 
so  barren  in  its  soil  that  no  richer  fruits  than  sloes  or  blackberries  were 
its  aboriginal  growth, — whose  tribes  of  painted  savages  continued  to 
dwell  in  huts  of  sedge,  or,  at  best,  pile  together  altars  of  rude  stone, 
for  ages  after  other  nations  widely  spread  over  the  globe  had  already 
achieved  wondrous  works  of  sculpture  and  design,  the  gorgeous  rock- 
temples  of  Ellora,  the  storied  obelisks  of  Thebes,  or  the  lion-crested 
portals  of  Mycenae ;  if  it  were  added,  that  this  island  had  afterwards 
by  skill  and  industry  attained  the  highest  degree  of  artificial  fertility, 
and  combined  in  its  luxury  the  fruits  of  every  clime,  that  the  sea, 
instead  of  remaining  its  barrier,  had  become  almost  a  part  of  its  empire, 
that  its  inhabitants  were  now  amongst  the  foremost  of  the  earth  in 
commerce  and  in  freedom,  in  arts  and  in  arms,  that  their  indomitable 
energy  had  subdued,  across  fifteen  thousand  miles  of  ocean,  a  land  ten 
times  more  extensive  than  their  own,  that  in  this  territory  they  now 
peacefully  reigned  over  one  hundred  and  twenty  millions  of  subjects  or 
dependants, — the  race  of  the  builders  of  Ellora,  and  the  heirs  of  the 
Great  Mogul ! — If,  further  still,  we  were  told  that  in  this  conquest  the 
rule  of  all  other  conquests  had  been  reversed;  that  the  reign  of  the 
strangers,  alien  in  blood,  in  language,  and  in  faith,  had  been  beyond 
any  other  in  that  region  fraught  with  blessings,  that  humanity  and 
justice,  the  security  of  life  and  property,  the  progress  of  improvement 
and  instruction,  were  far  greater  under  the  worst  of  the  foreign  go- 
vernors than  under  the  best  of  the  native  princes; — with  what  scorn 
might  we  not  be  tempted  to  fling  down  the  lying  scroll, — exclaiming 
that  even  in  fiction  there  should  be  some  decent  bounds  of  probability 
observed ;  that  even  in  the  Arabian  Nights  no  such  prodigies  are 
wrought  by  spells  or  talismans, — by  the  lamp  of  Aladdin  or  the  seal  of 
Solomon !  Yet,  such  is  English  rule  in  India. 

From  "History  of  England,." 


THE   BLACK  HOLE   OF   CALCUTTA. 

LORD  MAHON. 

THE  prisoners  had  been  left  at  the  disposal  of  the  officers  of  the  guard, 
who  determined  to  secure  them  for  the  night  in  the  common  dungeon 
of  the  fort,  a  dungeon  known  to  the  English  by  the  name  of  "  the  Black 
Hole," — its  size  only  eighteen  feet  by  fourteen  ;  its  airholes  only  two 
small  windows,  and  these  overhung  by  a  low  veranda.  Into  this  cell, 
hitherto  designed  and  employed  for  the  confinement  of  some  half  dozen 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  187 

malefactors  at  a  time,  was  it  now  resolved  to  thrust  an  hundred  and 
forty-five  European  men  and  one  Englishwoman,  some  of  them  suffer- 
ing from  recent  wounds,  and  this  in  the  night  of  the  Indian  summer 
solstice,  when  the  fiercest  heat  was  raging !  Into  this  cell  accordingly 
the  unhappy  prisoners,  in  spite  of  their  expostulations,  were  driven  at 
the  point  of  the  sabre;  the  last,  from  the  throng  and  narrow  space,  being 
pressed  in  with  considerable  difficulty,  and  the  doors  being  then  by 
main  force  closed  and  locked  behind  them. 

Of  the  doleful  night  that  succeeded,  narratives  have  been  given  by 
two  of  the  survivors,  Mr.  Holwell  and  Mr.  Cooke.  The  former,  who 
even  in  this  extremity  was  still  in  some  degree  obeyed  as  chief,  placed 
himself  at  a  window,  called  for  silence,  and  appealed  to  one  of  the 
Nabob's  officers,  an  old  man,  who  had  shown  more  humanity  than  the 
rest,  promising  him  a  thousand  rupees  in  the  morning  if  he  would  find 
means  to  separate  the  prisoners  into  two  chambers.  The  old  man  went 
to  try,  but  returned  in  a  few  minutes  with  the  fatal  sentence  that  no 
change  could  be  made  without  orders  from  the  Nabob, — that  the  Nabob 
was  asleep, — and  that  no  one  dared  to  disturb  him. 

Meanwhile  within  the  dungeon  the  heat  and  stench  had  become 
intolerable.  It  was  clear  to  the  sufferers  themselves  that,  without  a 
change,  few,  if  any,  amongst  them  would  see  the  light  of  another  day. 
Some  attempted  to  burst  open  the  door;  others,  as  unavailingly,  again 
besought  the  soldiers  to  unclose  it.  As  their  dire  thirst  increased, 
amidst  their  struggles  and  their  screams,  "Water!  Water!"  became  the 
general  cry.  The  officer,  to  whose  compassion  Mr.  Holwell  had  lately 
appealed,  desired  some  skins  of  water  to  be  brought  to  the  window; 
but  they  proved  too  large  to  pass  through  the  iron  bars,  and  the  sight 
of  this  relief,  so  near  and  yet  withheld,  served  only  to  infuriate  and 
well-nigh  madden  the  miserable  captives;  they  began  to  fight  and 
trample  one  another  down,  striving  for  a  nearer  place  to  the  windows, 
and  for  a  few  drops  of  the  water.  These  dreadful  conflicts,  far  from 
exciting  the  pity  of  the  guards,  rather  moved  their  mirth;  and  they 
held  up  lights  to  the  bars,  with  fiendish  glee,  to  discern  the  amusing 
sight  more  clearly.  On  the  other  hand,  several  of  the  English,  frantic 
with  pain,  were  now  endeavoring  by  every  term  of  insult  and  invective 
to  provoke  these  soldiers  to  put  an  end  to  their  agony  by  firing  into  the 
dungeon.  "  Some  of  our  company,"  says  Mr.  Cooke,  "  expired  very 
soon  after  being  put  in  ;  others  grew  mad,  and,  having  lost  their  senses, 
died  in  a  high  delirium."  At  length,  and  by  degrees,  these  various 
outcries  sunk  into  silence— but  it  was  the  silence  of  death.  When  the 
morning  broke,  and  the  Nabob's  order  came  to  unlock  the  door,  it 
became  necessary  first  to  clear  a  lane,  by  drawing  out  the  corpses,  and 
piling  them  in  heaps  on  each  side,  when,  walking  one  by  one  through 
the  narrow  outlet,  of  the  one  hundred  and  forty-six  persons  who  had 


188          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

entered  the  cell  the  evening  before,  only  twenty-three  came  forth ;  the 
ghastliest  forms,  says  Mr.  Orme,  that  were  ever  seen  alive. 

From  " History  of  England" 


MACAULAY'S  OKATOKY. 

MR.  MACAULAY'S  delivery  was  always  awkward,  and  his  appearance 
remarkably  strange.  Usually  dressed  in  a  green  frock  coat,  light  waist- 
coat, and  dark  trowsers,  he  seemed,  as  he  entered  the  House,  unmindful 
of  all  around,  and  made  straight  or  appeared  to  straggle  on  uncon- 
sciously to  his  seat,  between  Lord  John  Russell  and  Mr.  Labouchere. 
There,  with  his  arms  unfolded,  and  a  Puritan  determination  of  look, 
he  sat,  wrapped  in  abstraction.  When  he  spoke,  which  was  rarely,  it 
was  generally — unlike  the  other  prominent  men,  who  never  rise  until 
a  late  hour  at  night — early  in  the  evening,  before  dinner,  with  the 
object  of  preserving  his  memory  fresh  and  his  brain  unclouded.  He 
generally  bolted  straight  to  the  table,  and,  without  any  exordium, 
plunged  into  the  midst  of  his  argument,  pouring  forth  arguments  and 
illustrations,  and  images,  as  if  an  engine  was  working  inside,  and 
throwing  them  up  in  profusion  from  some  huge  laboratory.  His  voice 
was  shrill,  or  rather  hard,  exhibiting  no  passion  or  feeling,  and  his 
intonation  monotonous,  rushing  on  like  the  sound  of  a  rapid  stream. 
His  conversation  had  the  same  fault.  He  had  no  winningness  of  man- 
ner, and  no  graceful  ease  of  direction  or  deference  to  others,  but  poured 
out  sentence  upon  sentence,  until  you  were  gorged  and  sickened  with 
their  riches.  His  conversation  at  Brookes'  every  evening  at  four 
o'clock,  was  an  essay,  not  conversation.  Men  gathered  round  to  listen, 
as  they  do  here  to  a  lecture,  and  those  not  present  always  asked  in  the 
evening,  "  Well,  what  did  Macaulay  speak  about  to-day  ?"  As  Sydney 
Sm^th  wittily  remarked,  "  How  charming  Macaulay  would  be  if  he 
had  but  a  few  brilliant  flashes  of  silence  I" 

From  "  New  York  Daily  Times,"  1856. 


THE  WOUNDED  AFTER  A  BATTLE. 

IT  was  agonizing  to  see  the  wounded  men  who  were  lying  there 
under  a  broiling  sun,  parched  with  excruciating  thirst,  racked  with 
fever,  and  agonized  with  pain — to  behold  them  waving  their  caps 
^faintly  or  making  signals  towards  our  lines,  over  which  they  could  see 
the  white  flag  waving,  and  not  to  be  able  to  help  them.  They  lay 
where  they  fell,  or  had  scrambled  into  the  holes  formed  by  shells  ;  and 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  189 

there  they  had  been  for  thirty  hours — oh  !  how  long  and  how  dreadful 
in  their  weariness !  An  officer  told  me  that  one  soldier  who  was  close 
to  the  abatis,  when  he  saw  a  few  men  come  out  of  an  embrasure,  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow,  and,  fearing  he  should  be  unnoticed  and  passed 
by,  raised  his  cap  on  a  stick  and  waved  it  till  he  fell  back  exhausted. 
Again  he  rose,  and  managed  to  tear  off  his  shirt,  which  he  agitated  in 
the  air  till  his  strength  failed  him.  His  face  could  be  seen  through  a 
glass,  and  my  friend  said  he  never  could  forget  the  expression  of  resig- 
nation and  despair  with  which  the  poor  fellow  at  last  abandoned  his 
useless  efforts,  and  folded  his  shirt  under  his  head  to  await  the  mercy 
of  Heaven.  Whether  he  was  alive  or  not  when  our  men  went  out,  I 
cannot  say ;  but  five  hours  of  thirst,  fever,  and  pain  under  a  fierce  sun, 
would  make  awful  odds  against  him.  The  red-coats  lay  sadly  thick 
over  the  broken  ground  in  front  of  the  abatis  of  the  Redan,  and  blue 
and  gray  coats  were  scattered  about  or  lay  in  piles  in  the  rain-courses 
before  the  Malakoff. 

From  "London  Times. 


AKCHITECTUKE   IN  VENICE. 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 

WHEN  sensuality  and  idolatry  had  done  their  work,  and  the  religion 
of  the  empire  was  laid  asleep  in  a  glittering  sepulchre,  the  living  light 
rose  upon  both  horizons,  and  the  fierce  swords  of  the  Lombard  and 
Arab  were  shaken  over  its  golden  paralysis. 

The  work  of  the  Lombard  was  to  give  hardihood  and  system  to  the 
enervated  body  and  enfeebled  mind  of  Christendom  ;  that  of  the  Arab 
was  to  punish  idolatry,  and  to  proclaim  the  spirituality  of  worship. 
The  Lombard  covered  every  church  which  he  built  with  the  sculptured 
representations  of  bodily  exercises,  hunting  and  war.  The  Arab 
banished  all  imagination  of  creature  from  his  temples,  and  proclaimed 
from  their  minarets,  "  There  is  no  God  but  God."  Opposite  in  their 
character  and  mission,  alike  in  their  magnificence  of  energy,  they  came 
from  the  north  and  from  the  south,  the  glacier  torrent  and  the  lava 
stream  ;  they  met  and  contended  over  the  wreck  of  the  Roman  Empire  ; 
and  the  very  centre  of  the  struggle,  the  point  of  pause  of  both,  the  dead 
water  of  the  opposite  eddies,  charged  with  embayed  fragments  of  the 
Roman  wreck,  is  VENICE. 

The  Ducal  Palace  of  Venice  contains  the  three  elements  in  exactly 
equal  proportions — the  Roman,  Lombard,  and  Arab.  It  is  the  central 
"building  of  the  world. 

From  "  The  Stones  of  Venice." 


190  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC   SPEAKER. 


THE   EXECUTION    OF   ANDRE. 

THE  procession  wound  slowly  up  a  moderately-rising  ground,  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  west.  On  the  top  was  a  field  without  any 
enclosure ;  and  on  this  was  a  very  high  gallows,  made  by  setting  up 
two  poles  or  crotchets,  and  laying  a  pole  on  the  top. 

The  wagon  that  contained  the  coffin  was  drawn  directly  under  the 
gallows.  In  a  short  time  Andr6  stepped  into  the  hind  end  of  the 
wagon,  then  on  his  coffin,  took  off  his  hat,  and  laid  it  down ;  then 
placed  his  hands  upon  his  hips,  and  walked  very  uprightly  back  and 
forth,  as  far  as  the  length  of  the  wagon  would  permit,  at  the  same  time 
casting  his  eyes  up  to  the  pole  over  his  head,  and  the  whole  scenery 
by  which  he  was  surrounded. 

He  was  dressed  in  a  complete  British  uniform.  His  coat  was  of  the 
brightest  scarlet,  faced  and  trimmed  with  the  most  beautiful  green. 
His  under-clothes,  vest,  and  breeches  were  bright  buff;  he  had  a  long 
and  beautiful  head  of  hair,  which,  agreeably  to  the  fashion,  was  wound 
with  a  black  ribbon,  and  hung  down  his  back. 

Not  many  minutes  after  he  took  his  stand  upon  the  coffin,  the  execu- 
tioner stepped  into  the  wagon  with  a  halter  in  his  hand,  on  one  end  of 
which  was  what  the  soldiers  in  those  days  called  "  a  hangman's  knot," 
which  he  attempted  to  put  over  the  head  and  around  the  neck  of  Andre" ; 
but  by  a  sudden  movement  of  his  hand  this  was  prevented. 

Andr6  now  took  off  the  handkerchief  from  his  neck,  unpinned  his 
shirt-collar,  and  deliberately  took  the  cord  of  the  halter,  put  it  over  his 
head,  and  placed  the  knot  directly  under  his  right  ear,  and  drew  it 
very  snugly  to  his  neck.  He  then  took  from  his  coat-pocket  a  hand- 
kerchief, and  tied  it  before  his  eyes.  This  done,  the  officer  who  com- 
manded spoke  in  rather  a  loud  voice,  and  said : 

"  His  arms  must  be  tied." 

Andre"  at  once  pulled  down  the  handkerchief  which  he  had  just  tied 
over  his  eyes,  and  drew  from  his  pocket  a  second  one,  which  he  gave  to 
the  executioner,  and  then  replaced  his  handkerchief. 

His  arms  at  this  time  were  tied  just  above  the  elbow,  and  behind 
the  back. 

The  rope  was  then  made  fast  to  the  pole  overhead.  The  wagon  was 
very  suddenly  drawn  from  under  the  gallows,  which,  together  with  the 
length  of  rope,  gave  him  a  most  tremendous  swing  back  and  forth ; 
but  in  a  few  moments  he  hung  entirely  still. 

From  "  Harper's  Magazine." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  191 


THE    HOSPITAL   AT   SEBASTOPOL. 

OF  all  the  pictures  of  the  horrors  of  war  which  have  ever  been  pre- 
sented to  the  world,  the  hospital  of  Sebastopol  presents  the  most  hor- 
rible, heart-rending,  and  revolting.  It  cannot  be  described,  and  the 
imagination  of  a  Fuseli  could  not  conceive  anything  at  all  unlike  unto 
it.  How  the  poor  human  body  can  be  mutilated  and  yet  hold  its  soul 
within,  when  every  limb  is  shattered,  and  every  vein  and  artery  is 
pouring  out  the  life-stream,  one  might  study  here  at  every  step,  and 
at  the  same  time  wonder  how  little  will  kill !  The  building  used  as 
an  hospital  is  one  of  the  noble  piles  inside  the  dock-yard  wall,  and  is 
situated  in  the  centre  of  the  row  at  right  angles  to  the  line  of  the 
Redan.  The  whole  row  was  peculiarly  exposed  to  the  action  of  shot 
and  shell  bounding  over  the  Redan,  and  to  the  missiles  directed  at  the 
Barrack  Battery,  and  it  bears,  in  sides,  roofs,  windows,  and  doors,  fre- 
quent and  destructive  proofs  of  the  severity  of  the  cannonade. 

Entering  one  of  these  doors,  I  beheld  such  a  sight  as  few  men,  thank 
God,  have  ever  witnessed !  In  a,  long,  low  room,  supported  by  square 
pillars,  arched  at  the  top,  and  dimly  lighted  through  shattered  and 
unglazed  window-frames,  lay  the  wounded  Russians,  who  had  been 
abandoned  to  our  mercies  by  their  general.  The  wounded,  did  I  say  ? 
No,  but  the  dead,  the  rotten  and  festering  corpses  of  the  soldiers  who 
were  left  to  die  in  their  extreme  agony,  untended,  uncared  for,  packed 
as  close  as  they  could  be  stowed,  some  on  the  floor,  others  on  wretched 
trestles  and  bedsteads,  or  pallets  of  straw,  sopped  and  saturated  with 
blood,  which  oozed  and  trickled  through  upon  the  floor,  mingled  with 
the  droppings  of  corruption.  Many  lay,  yet  alive,  with  maggots 
crawling  about  in  their  wounds.  Many,  nearly  mad  by  the  scenes 
around  them,  or  seeking  escape  from  it  in  their  extremest  agony,  had 
rolled  away  under  the  beds,  and  glared  out  on  the  heart-stricken  spec- 
tators, oh !  with  such  looks.  Many,  with  legs  and  arms  broken  and 
twisted,  the  jagged  splinters  sticking  through  the  raw  flesh,  implored 
aid,  water,  food,  or  pity,  or,  deprived  of  speech  by  the  approach  of 
death,  or  by  dreadful  injuries  on  the  head  or  trunk,  pointed  to  the 
lethal  spot.  Many  seemed  bent  alone  on  making  their  peace  with 
Heaven.  The  attitudes  of  some  were  so  hideously  fantastic  as  to 
appal  and  root  one  to  the  ground  by  a  sort  of  dreadful  fascination. 

Could  that  bloody  mass  of  clothing  and  white  bones  ever  have  been  a 
human  being,  or  that  burnt  black  mass  of  flesh  have  ever  had  a  human 
soul?  It  was  fearful  to  think  what  the  answer  must  be.  The  bodies 
of  numbers  of  men  were  swollen  and  bloated  to  an  incredible  degree, 
and  the  features  distended  to  a  gigantic  size,  with  eyes  protruding 
from  the  sockets,  and  the  blackened  tongue  lolling  out  of  the  mouth, 
compressed  tightly  by  the  teeth  which  had  set  upon  it  in  the  death- 


192  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

rattle,  made  one  shudder  and  reel  round.  In  the  midst  of  one  of  these 
"chambers  of  horror" — for  there  were  many  of  them — were  found 
some  dead  and  some  living  English  soldiers,  and  among  them  poor 
Captain  Vaughan,  of  the  90th,  who  has  since  succumbed  to  his  wounds. 
I  confess,  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  stand  at  the  sigjat  which  horri- 
fied our  most  experienced  surgeons — the  deadly,  clammy  stench,  the 
smell  of  the  gangrened  wounds,  of  corrupt  blood,  of  rotting  flesh, 
were  intolerable  and  odious  beyond  endurance.  But  what  must  the 
wounded  have  felt  who  were  obliged  to  endure  all  this,  and  who  passed 
away  without  a  hand  to  give  them  a  cup  of  water,  or  a  voice  to  say 
one  kindly  word  to  them  ! 

From  "  The  London  Times" 


BYKON  AND   BURN'S. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

THE  words  of  Milton  are  true  in  all  times,  and  were  never  truer 
than  in  this:  "He  who  would  write  heroic  poems,  must  make  his 
whole  life  an  heroic  poem."  If  he  cannot  first  so  make  his  life,  then 
let  him  hasten  from  this  arena ;  for  neither  its  lofty  glories,  nor  its 
fearful  perils,  are  for  him.  Let  him  dwindle  into  a  modish  ballad- 
monger  ;  let  him  worship  and  be-sing  the  idols  of  the  time,  and  the 
time  will  not  fail  to  reward  him, — if,  indeed,  he  can  endure  to  live  in 
that  capacity ! 

Byron  and  Burns  could  not  live  as  idol-priests,  but  the  fire  of  their 
own  hearts  consumed  them  ;  and  better  it  was  for  them  that  they 
could  not.  For  it  is  not  in  the  favor  of  the  great,  or  of  the  small, 
but  in  a  life  of  truth,  and  in  the  inexpugnable  citadel  of  his  own 
soul,  that  a  Byron's  or  a  Burns's  strength  must  lie.  Let  the  great 
stand  aloof  from  him,  or  know  how  to  reverence  him.  Beautiful  is 
the  union  of  wealth  with  favor  and  furtherance  for  literature ;  like 
the  costliest  flower-jar  enclosing  the  loveliest  amaranth.  Yet  let  not 
the  relation  be  mistaken.  A  true  poet  is  not  one  whom  they  can  hire 
by  money  or  flattery  to  be  a  minister  of  their  pleasures,  their  writer 
of  occasional  verses,  their  purveyor  of  table-wit ;  he  cannot  be  their 
menial,  he  cannot  even  be  their  partisan.  At  the  peril  of  both  parties, 
let  no  such  union  be  attempted !  Will  a  Courser  of  the  Sun  work 
softly  in  the  harness  of  a  Dray-horse  ?  His  hoofs  are  of  fire,  and  his 
path  is  through  the  heavens,  bringing  light  to  all  lands ;  will  he  lum- 
ber on' mud  highways,  dragging  ale  for  earthly  appetites,  from  door  to 
door? 

From  "  Essay  on  Burns." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  193 


THE   ASSAULT  ON   THE   MALAKOFF. 

AT  half  past  ten  o'clock  General  Pelissier  and  his  staff  went  up  to 
the  French  Observatory,  on  the  right.  The  French  trenches  were 
crowded  with  men  as  close  as  they  could  pack,  and  we  could  see  our 
men  through  the  breaks  in  the  clouds  of  dust,  which  were  most  irri- 
tating, all  ready  in  their  trenches.  The  cannonade  languished  pur- 
posely towards  noon;  but  the  Russians,  catching  sight  of  the  cavalry 
and  troops  in  front,  began  to  shell  Cathcart's  Hill  and  the  Heights,  and 
disturbed  the  equanimity  of  some  of  the  spectators  by  their  shells 
bursting  with  loud  "  thuds"  right  over  their  heads. 

A  few  minutes  before  twelve  o'clock  the  French,  like  a  swarm  of  bees, 
issued  forth  from  their  trenches  close  to  the  doomed  Malakoff,  swarmed 
up  its  face,  and  were  through  the  embrasures  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
They  crossed  the  seven  metres  of  ground  which  separated  them  from  the 
enemy  at  a  few  bounds — they  drifted  as  lightly  and  quickly  as  autumn 
leaves  before  the  wind,  battalion  after  battalion,  into  the  embrasures, 
and  in  a  minute  or  two  after  the  head  of  their  column  issued  from  the 
ditch,  the  tricolor  was  floating  over  the  Korniloff  bastion.  The  mus- 
ketry was  very  feeble  at  first — indeed,  our  allies  took  the  Russians 
quite  by  surprise,  and  very  few  of  the  latter  were  in  the  Malakoff;  but 
they  soon  recovered  themselves,  and,  from  twelve  o'clock  till  past  seven 
in  the  evening,  the  French  had  to  meet  and  defeat  the  repeated  attempts 
of  the  enemy  to  regain  the  work  and  the  Little  Redan,  when,  weary 
of  the  fearful  slaughter  of  his  men,  who  lay  in  thousands  over  the 
exterior  of  the  works,  the  Muscovite  general,  despairing  of  success, 
withdrew  his  exhausted  legions,  and  prepared,  with  admirable  skill,  to 
evacuate  the  place. 

From  "  The  London  Times"  1855. 


THE   STBUGGLE   IN  THE   KEDAN. 

THE  struggle  that  took  place  was  short,  desperate,  and  bloody.  Our 
soldiers,  taken  at  every  disadvantage,  met  the  enemy  with  the  bayonet, 
too,  and  isolated  combats  took  place  in  which  the  brave  fellows,  who 
stood  their  ground,  had  to  defend  themselves  against  three  or  four 
adversaries  at  once.  In  this  mel£e,  the  officers,  armed  only  with  their 
swords,  had  little  chance  ;  nor  had  those  who  carried  pistols  much 
opportunity  of  using  them  in  such  a  rapid  contest. 

They  fell  like  heroes,  and  many  a  gallant  soldier  with  them.     The 

bodies  of  the  English  and  Russians,  inside  the  Redan,  locked  in  an 

embrace  which  death  could  not  relax,  but  had  rather  cemented  all  the 

closer,  lay  next  day  inside  the  Redan,  as  evidences  of  the  terrible  ani- 

17  N 


194  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

mosity  of  the  struggle.  But  the  solid  weight  of  the  advancing  mass, 
urged  on,  and  fed  each  moment  from  the  rear  by  company  after  company, 
and  battalion  after  battalion,  prevailed  at  last  against  the  isolated  and 
disjointed  band,  who  had  abandoned  the  protection  of  unanimity  of 
courage,  and  had  lost  the  advantages  of  discipline  and  obedience. 

As  though  some  giant  rock  had  advanced  into  the  sea,  and  forced 
back  the  waters  that  buffeted  it,  so  did  the  Russian  columns  press 
down  against  the  spray  of  soldiery  which  fretted  their  edge  with  fire 
and  steel,  and  contended  in  vain  against  their  weight.  The  struggling 
band  was  forced  back  by  the  enemy,  who  moved  on,  crushing  friends 
and  foe  beneath  their  solid  tramp,  and,  bleeding,  panting,  and  ex- 
hausted, our  men  lay  in  heaps  in  the  ditch  beneath  the  parapet, 
sheltered  themselves  behind  stands,  and  in  bomb-craters  in  the  slope 
of  the  work,  or  tried  to  pass  back  to  our  advanced  parallel  and  cap, 
and  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  a  tremendous  fire. 

From  "  The  London  Times,"  1855. 


NAPOLEON   AND   JOSEPHINE. 

NAPOLEON'S  acquaintance  with  Josephine  arose  from  the  impression 
made  on  him  by  her  son,  Eugene  Beauharnais,  then  a  little  boy.  He 
came  to  request  that  his  father's  sword,  which  had  been  delivered  up, 
might  be  restored  to  him.  The  boy's  appearance,  the  earnestness  with 
which  he  urged  his  request,  and  the  tears  which  could  not  be  stayed 
when  he  beheld  the  sword,  interested  Napoleon  so  much  in  his  favor, 
that  not  only  was  the  sword  given  to  him,  but  he  determined  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  mother  of  the  boy.  He  visited  her,  and  soon  his 
visits  became  frequent.  He  delighted  to  hear  the  details  which  she 
gave  of  the  court  of  Louis.  "  Come,"  he  would  say,  as  he  sat  by  her 
side  of  an  evening,  "  now  let  us  talk  of  the  old  court — let  us  make  a 
tour  to  Versailles."  It  was  in  these  frequent  and  familiar  interviews 
that  the  fascinations  of  Josephine  won  the  heart  of  Napoleon.  "  She 
is,"  said  he,  "  grace  personified — everything  she  does  is  with  a  grace 
and  delicacy  peculiar  to  herself." 

The  admiration  and  love  of  such  a  man  could  not  fail  to  make 
an  impression  on  a  woman  like  Josephine.  It  has  been  said  that 
it  was  impossible  to  be  in  Napoleon's  company  without  being 
struck  by  his  personal  appearance ;  not  so  much  by  the  exquisite 
symmetry  of  his  features,  and  the  noble  head  and  forehead,  which 
have  furnished  the  painter  and  the  sculptor  with  one  of  their  finest 
models ;  nor  even  by  the  meditative  look,  so  indicative  of  intellectual 
power ;  but  the  magic  charm  was  the  varying  expression  of  counte- 
nance, which  changed  with  every  passing  thought,  and  glowed  with 
every  feeling.  His  smile,  it  is  said,  always  inspired  confidence. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  195 

"  It  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible" — so  the  Duchess  of  Abrantes  writes 
— "  to  describe  the  charm  of  his  countenance  when  he  smiled — his 
soul  was  upon  his  lips  and  in  his  eyes."  The  magic  power  of  that 
expression  at  a  later  period  is  well  known.  The  Emperor  of  Russia 
experienced  it  when  he  said,  "  I  never  loved  any  one  more  than  that 
man/'  He  possessed,  toa,  that  greatest  of  all  charms,  an  harmonious 
voice,  whose  tones,  like  his  countenance,  changing  from  emphatic 
impressiveness  to  caressing  softness,  found  their  way  to  every  heart. 

It  may  not  have  been  those  personal  and  mental  gifts  alone  which  won 
Josephine's  heart ;  the  ready  sympathy  with  which  Napoleon  entered 
into  her  feelings,  may  have  been  the  greatest  charm  to  an  affectionate 
nature  like  hers.  It  was  in  the  course  of  one  of  those  confidential 
evenings,  that,  as  they  sat  together,  she  read  to  him  the  last  letter 
which  she  had  received  from  her  husband — it  was  a  most  touching 
farewell.  Napoleon  was  deeply  affected  ;  and  it  has  been  said  that 
that  letter,  and  Josephine's  emotion,  as  she  read  it,  had  a  powerful 
effect  upon  his  feelings,  already  so  much  excited  by  admiration. 

From  "Eraser's  Magazine" 


THE   ORATOEY   OF   PITT. 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

PITT  is  to  be  placed,  without  any  doubt,  in  the  highest  class.  With 
a  sparing  use  of  ornament,  hardly  indulging  more  in  figures,  or  even 
in  figurative  expression,  than  the  most  severe  examples  of  ancient 
chasteness  allowed — with  little  variety  of  style,  hardly  any  of  the  graces 
of  manner — he  no  sooner  rose  than,  he  carried  away  every  hearer,  and 
kept  the  attention  fixed  and  unflagging  till  it  pleased  him  to  let  it  go ; 
and  then 

"  So  charming  left  his  voice,  that  we,  awhile, 
Still  thought  him  speaking ;  still  stood  fixed  to  hear." 

This  magical  effect  was  produced  by  his  unbroken  flow,  which  never 
for  a  moment  left  the  hearer  in  pain  or  doubt,  and  yet  was  not  the 
mean  fluency  of  mere  relaxation,  requiring  no  effort  of  the  speaker, 
but  imposing  on  the  listener  a  heavy  task ;  by  his  lucid  arrangement, 
which  made  all  parts  of  the  most  complicated  subject  quit  their 
entanglement,  and  fall  each  into  its  place*  by  the  clearness  of  his 
statements,  which  presented  at  once  a  picture  to  the  mind ;  by  the  for- 
cible appeals  to  strict  reason  and  strong  feeling,  which  formed  the  great 
staple  of  the  discourse;  by  the  majesty  of  the  diction  ;  by  the  depth 
and  fulness  of  the  most  sonorous  voice,  and  the  unbending  dignity  of 
the  manner,  which  ever  reminded  us  that  we  were  in  the  presence -of 
more  than  an  advocate  or  debater — that  there  stood  before  us  a  ruler 
of  the  people.  Such  were  invariably  the  effects  of  this  singular  elo- 


196  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC.  SPEAKER. 

quence  ;  and  they  were  as  certainly  produced  on  ordinary  occasions,  as 
in  those  grander  displays  when  he  rose  to  the  height  of  some  great 
argument ;  or  indulged  rn  vehement  invective  against  some  individual, 
and  variegated  his  speech  with  that  sarcasm  of  which  he  was  so  great 
a  master,  and  indeed  so  little  sparing  an  employer ;  although  even  here 
all  was  uniform  and  consistent ;  nor  did  anything,  in  any  mood.of  mind, 
ever  drop  from  him  that  was  unsuited  to  the  majestic  frame  of  the  whole, 
or  could  disturb  the  serenity  of  the  full  and  copious  flood  rolled  along. 

From  "  Eminent  Statesmen." 


THE   CHARACTER   OF   FOX. 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

THE  foolish  indulgence  of  a  father,  from  whom  he  inherited  his 
talents  certainly,  but  little  principle,  put  Mr.  Fox,  while  yet  a  boy,  in 
the  possession  of  pecuniary  resources  which  cannot  safely  be  trusted  to 
more  advanced  stages  of  youth ;  and  the  dissipated  habits  of  the  times 
drew  him,  before  the  age  of  manhood,  into  the  whirlpool  of  fashionable 
excess.  In  the  comparatively  correct  age  in  which  our  lot  is  cast,  it 
would  be  almost  as  unjust  to  apply  our  more  severe  standard  to  him 
and  his  associates,  as  it  would  have  been  for  the  Ludlows  and  Hutchin- 
sons  of  the  seventeenth  century,  in  writing  a  history  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  to  denounce  the  immoralities  of  Julius  Caesar.  Nor  let  it  be 
forgotten,  that  the  noble  heart  and  sweet  disposition  of  this  great  man 
passed  unscathed  through  an  ordeal  which,  in  almost  every  other 
instance,  is  found  to  deaden  all  the  kindly  and  generous  affections.  A 
life  of  gambling,  and  intrigue,  and  faction,  left  the  nature  of  Charles 
Fox  as  little  tainted  with  selfishness  or  falsehood,  and  his  heart  as  little 
hardened,  as  if  he  had  lived  and  died  in  a  farm-house ;  or  rather  as  if 
he  had  not  outlived  his  childish  years. 

From  "  Eminent  Statesmen." 


THE   ELOQUENCE   OF  BURKE. 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

IT  may  justly  be  said,  with  the  second  of  Attic  orators,  that  sense 
is  always  more  important  than  eloquence ;  and  no  one  can  doubt  that 
enlightened  men  in  all  ages  will  hang  over  the  works  of  Mr.  Burke, 
and  dwell  with  delight  even  upon  the  speeches  that  failed  to  command 
the  attention  of  those  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  Nor  is  it  by 
their  rhetorical  beauties  that  they  interest  us.  The  extraordinary  depth 
of  .his  detached  views,  the  penetrating  sagacity  which  he  occasionally 
applies  to  the  affairs  of  men  and  their  motives,  and  the  curious  felicity 
of  expression  with  which  he  unfolds  principles,  and  traces  resemblances 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  197 

and  relations,  are  separately  the  gift  of  few,  and  in  their  union  probably 
without  any  example.  This  must  be  admitted  on  all  hands  ;  it  is  pos- 
sibly the  last  of  these  observations  which  will  obtain  universal  assent, 
as  it  is  the  last  we  have  to  offer  before  coming  upon  disputed  ground, 
where  the  fierce  contentions  of  politicians  cross  the  more  quiet  path  of 
the  critic. 

Not  content  with  the  praise  of  his  philosophic  acuteness,  which  all 
are  ready  to  allow,  the  less  temperate  admirers  of  this  great  writer  have 
ascribed  to  him  a  gift  of  genius  approaching  to  the  power  of  divination, 
and  have  recognised  him  as  in  possession  of  a  judgment  so  acute  and 
so  calm  withal,  that  its  decision  might  claim  the  authority  of  infallible 
decrees.  His  opinions  upon  French  affairs  have  been  viewed  as  always 
resulting  from  general  principles  deliberately  applied  to  each  emer- 
gency ;  and  they  have  been  looked  upon  as  forming  a  connected  system 
of  doctrines,  by  which  his  own  sentiments  and  conduct  were  regulated, 
and  from  which  after  times  may  derive  the  lessons  of  practical  wisdom. 

From  " Eminent  Statesmen" 


LORD  NORTH'S  POLICY. 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

WHEN  Lord  North  found  that  he  could  no  longer  approve  the  policy 
which  he  was  required  to  pursue,  and  of  course  to  defend,  he  was  bound 
to  quit  the  councils  of  his  obstinate  and  unreasonable  sovereign.  Nor  can 
there  be  a  worse  service,  either  to  the  prince  or  his  people,  than  enabling 
a  monarch  to  rule  in  his  own  person,  dictating  the  commands  of  his  own 
violence  or  caprice,  through  servants  who  disapprove  of  his  measures, 
and  yet  suffer  themselves  to  be  made  instruments  for  carrying  them 
into  execution.  A  bad  king  can  desire  nothing  more  than  to  be  served 
by  such  persons,  whose  opinions  he  will  as  much  disregard  as  their 
inclinations,  but  whom  he  will  always  find  his  tools  in  doing  the  work 
of  mischief,  because  they  become  the  more  at  the  monarch's  mercy  in 
proportion  as  they  have  surrendered  their  principles  and  their  will  to  his. 

Far,  then,  very  far  from  vindicating  the  conduct  of  Lord  North  in 
this  essential  point,  we  hesitate  not  to  affirm  that  the  discrepancy 
between  his  sentiments  and  his  measures  is  not  even  any  extenuation 
of  the  disastrous  policy  which  gave  us,  for  the  fruits  of  a  long  and  dis- 
astrous war,  the  dismemberment  of  the  empire.  In  truth,  what  other- 
wise might  have  been  regarded  as  an  error  of  judgment,  became  an 
offence,  only  palliated  by  considering  those  kindly  feelings  of  a  personal 
kind  which  governed  him,  but  which  every  statesman,  indeed  every  one 
who  acts  in  any  capacity  as  trustee  for  others,  is  imperatively  called 

upon  to  disregard. 

From  "  Eminent  Statesmen" 

17* 


198  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


THE   ADMINISTRATION  OF  PITT   (LORD   CHATHAM). 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Pitt  took  the  helm,  the  steadiness  of  the  hand  that 
held  it  was  instantly  felt  in  every  motion  of  the  vessel.  There  was  no 
more  of  wavering  counsels,  of  torpid  inaction,  of  listless  expectancy, 
of  abject  despondency.  His  firmness  gave  confidence,  his  spirit  roused 
courage,  his  vigilance  secured  exertion,  in  every  department  under  his 
sway.  Each  man,  from  the  first  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  down  to  the 
most  humble  clerk  in  the  Victualling  Office — each  soldier,  from  the 
Commander-in-Chief  to  the  most  obscure  contractor  or  commissary — 
now  felt  assured  that  he  was  acting  or  was  indolent  under  the  eye  of 
one  who  knew  his  duties  and  his  means  as  well  as  his  own,  and  who 
would  very  certainly  make  all  defaulters,  whether  through  misfeasance 
or  through  nonfeasance,  accountable  for  whatever  detriment  the  com- 
monwealth might  sustain  at  their  hands. 

Over  his  immediate  coadjutors  his  influence  swiftly  obtained  an 
ascendant  which  it  ever  after  retained  uninterrupted.  Upon  his  first 
proposition  for  changing  the  conduct  of  the  war,  he  stood  single  among 
his  colleagues,  and  tendered  his  resignation  should  they  persist  in  their 
dissent ;  they  at  once  succumbed,  and  from  that  hour  ceased  to  have  an 
opinion  of  their  own  upon  any  branch  of  the  public  affairs.  Nay,  so 
absolutely  was  he  determined  to  have  the  control  of  those  measures,  of 
which  he  knew  the  responsibility  rested  upon  him  alone,  that  he 
insisted  upon  the  first  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  not  having  the  corre- 
spondence of  his  own  department;  and  no  less  eminent  a  naval 
character  than  Lord  Anson,  as  well  as  his  junior  Lords,  was  obliged  to 
sign  the  naval  orders  issued  by  Mr.  Pitt,  while  the  writing  was  covered 
over  from  their  eyes  I 

From  "  Eminent  Statesmen." 


THE   HANDWRITING   OF  JUNIUS. 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

THE  comparison  of  Sir  Philip  Francis's  ordinary  hand,  which  was  a 
remarkably  fine  one,  with  the  studiously-feigned  hand  of  Junius's 
Letters,  and  of  all  his  private  correspondence,  seemed  to  present  many 
points  of  resemblance.  But  a  remarkable  writing  of  Sir  P.  Francis 
was  recovered  by  the  late  Mr.  Daniel  Giles,  to  whose  sister  he  had 
many  years  before  sent  a  copy  of  verses  with  a  letter  written  in  a 
feigned  hand.  Upon  comparing  this  fiction  with  the  fac-similes  pub- 
lished by  Woodfall  of  Junius's  hand,  the  two  were  found  to  tally 
accurately  enough.  The  authorship  is  certainly  not  proved  by  this 
resemblance,  even  if  it  were  admitted  to  prove  that  Sir  P.  Francis  had 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  199 

been  employed  to  copy  the  letters.    But  the  importance  of  the  fact  as  a 
circumstance  in  the  chain  of  evidence  is  undeniable. 

To  this  may  be  added  the  interest  which  he  always  took  in  the  work. 
Upon  his  decease,  the  vellum-bound  and  gilt  copies,  which  formed  the 
only  remuneration  Junius  would  receive  from  the  publisher,  were 
sought  for  in  vain  among  his  books.  But  it  is  said  that  the  present 
which  he  made  his  second  wife  on  their  marriage  was  a  finely-bound 

copy  of  Junius. 

From  "  Eminent  Statesmen:' 


THE   OKATOBY  OF   CANNING. 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

His  declamation,  though  often  powerful,  always  beautifully  ornate, 
never  deficient  in  admirable  diction,  was  certainly  not  of  the  highest 
class.  It  wanted  depth  ;  it  came  from  the  mouth,  not  from  the  heart ; 
and  it  tickled  or  even  filled  the  ear  rather  than  penetrated  the  bosom 
of  the  listener.  The  orator  never  seemed  to  forget  himself  and  be 
absorbed  in  his  theme ;  he  was  not  carried  away  by  his  passions,  and 
he  carried  not  his  audience  along  with  him.  An  actor  stood  before  us, 
a  first-rate  one,  no  doubt,  but  still  an  actor ;  and  we  never  forgot  that 
it  was  a  representation  we  were  witnessing,  not  a  real  scene.  The 
Grecian  artist  was  of  the  second  class  only,  at  whose  fruit  the  birds 
pecked ;  while,  on  seeing  Parrhasius's  picture,  men  cried  out  to  have 
the  curtain  drawn  aside.  Mr.  Canning's  declamation  entertained  his 
hearers,  so  artistly  was  it  executed ;  but  only  an  inexperienced  critic 
could  mistake  it  for  the  highest  reach  of  the  rhetorical  art.  The  truly 
great  orator  is  he  who  carries  away  his  hearer,  or  fixes  his  whole  atten- 
tion on  the  subject — with  the  subject  fills  his  whole  soul — than  the 
subject,  will  suffer  him  to  think  of  no  other  thing — of  the  subject's 
existence  alone  will  let  him  be  conscious,  while  the  vehement  inspira- 
tion lasts  on  his  own  mind  which  he  communicates  to  his  hearer — and 
will  only  suffer  him  to  reflect  on  the  admirable  execution  of  what  he 
has  heard  after  the  burst  is  over,  the  whirlwind  has  passed  away,  and 
the  excited  feelings  have  in  the  succeeding  lull  sunk  into  repose. 

From  "  Eminent  Statesnen." 


EELICS  AT  ABBOTSFOED. 

WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

AFTER  dinner  we  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room,  which  served  also 
for  study  and  library.  Against  the  wall  on  one  side  was  a  long  writing- 
table,  with  drawers ;  surmounted  by  a  small  cabinet  of  polished  wood, 
with  folding  doors  richly  studded  with  brass  ornaments,  within  which 


200          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Scott  kept  his  most  valuable  papers.  Above  the  cabinet,  in  a,  kind  of 
niche,  was  a  complete  corslet  of  glittering  steel,  with  a  closed  'helmet 
and  flanked  by  gauntlets  and  battle-axes.  Around  were  hung  trophies 
and  relics  of  various  kinds :  a  cimeter  of  Tippoo  Saib ;  a  Highland 
broadsword  from  Floddenfield ;  a  pair  of  Rippon  spurs  from  Bannock 
burn  ;  and  above  all,  a  gun  which  had  belonged  to  Rob  Roy,  and  bore 
his  initials,  R.  M.  G.,  an  object  of  peculiar  interest  to  me  at  the  time, 
as  it  was  understood  Scott  was  actually  engaged  in  printing  a  novel 
founded  on  the  story  of  that  famous  outlaw. 

On  each  side  of  the  cabinet  were  book-cases,  well  stored  with  works 
of  romantic  fiction  in  various  languages,  many  of  them  rare  and  anti- 
quated. This,  however,  was  merely  his  cottage  library,  the  principal 
part  of  his  books  being  at  Edinburgh. 

From  this  little  cabinet  of  curiosities,  Scott  drew  forth  a  manuscript 
picked  up  on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  containing  copies  of  several  songs 
popular  at  the  time  in  France.  The  paper  was  dabbled  with  blood — 
"  The  life  blood,  very  possibly,"  said  Scott,  "  of  some  gay  young  officer, 
who  had  cherished  these  songs  as  a  keepsake  from  some  lady  love  in 

Paris." 

From  "  Crayon  Miscellany." 


MACHIAYELLI. 

LORD  MACAULAY. 

MACHIAVELLI  lived  long  enough  to  see  the  commencement  of  the  last 
struggle  for  Florentine  liberty.  Soon  after  his  death,  monarchy  was 
finally  established — not  such  a  monarchy  as  that  of  which  Cosmo  had 
laid  the  foundations  deep  in  the  constitution  and  feelings  of  his  country- 
men, and  which  Lorenzo  had  embellished  with  the  trophies  of  every 
science  and  every  art ;  but  a  loathsome  tyranny,  proud  and  mean, 
cruel  and  feeble,  bigoted  and  lascivious.  The  character  of  Machiavelli 
was  hateful  to  the  new  masters  of  Italy ;  and  those  parts  of  his  theory 
which  were  in  strict  accordance  with  their  own  daily  practice,  aiforded 
a  pretext  for  blackening  his  memory.  His  works  were  misrepresented 
by  the  learned,  misconstrued  by  the  ignorant,  censured  by  the  church, 
abused,  with  all  the  rancor  of  simulated  virtue,  by  the  minions  of  a 
base  despotism,  and  the  priests  of  a  baser  superstition.  The  name  of 
the  man  whose  genius  had  illuminated  all  the  dark  places  of  policy, 
and  to  whose  patriotic  wisdom  an  oppressed  people  had  owed  their  last 
chance  of  emancipation  and  revenge,  passed  into  a  proverb  of  infamy. 

For  more  than  two  hundred  years  his  bones  lay  undistinguished.  At 
length,  an  English  nobleman  paid  the  last  honors  to  the  greatest  states- 
man of  Florence.  In  the  church  of  Santa  Croce,  a  monument  was 
erected  to  his  memory,  which  is  contemplated  with  reverence  by  all 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  201 

•who  can  distinguish  the  virtues  of  a  great  mind  through  the  corrup- 
tions of  a  degenerate  age ;  and  which  will  be  approached  with  still 
deeper  homage,  when  the  object  to  which  his  public  life  was  devoted 
shall  be  attained,  when  the  foreign  yoke  shall  be  broken,  when  a  second 
Proccita  shall  avenge  the  wrongs  of  Naples,  when  a  happier  Rienzi 
shall  restore  the  good  estate  of  Rome,  when  the  streets  of  Florence  and 
Bologna  shall  again  resound  with  their  ancient  war-cry — Popolo  ;  pc~ 
polo  ;  muoiano  i  tiranni  ! 

From  "  Essay  on  Atachiavelli." 


BOBESPIEKRE. 

LORD  BROUGHAM. 

ROBESPIERRE  was,  beyond  most  men  that  ever  lived,  hateful,  selfish, 
unprincipled,  cruel,  unscrupulous.  That  he  was  not  the  worst  of  the 
Jacobin  group  may  also  be  without  hesitation  affirmed.  Collot  d'Her- 
bois  was  probably  worse ;  Billaud  Varennes  certainly,  of  whom  it  was 
said  byGarat:  "  II  fauche  dans  les  t§tes,  comme  un  autre  dans  les 
pr6s"  (he  mows  down  heads  as  another  would  grass.)  But  neither  of 
these  men  had  the  same  fixity  of  purpose,  and  both  were  inferior  to  him 
in  speech.  Both,  however,  and  indeed  all  the  revolutionary  chiefs, 
were  his  superiors  in  the  one  great  quality  of  courage ;  and  while  his 
want  of  boldness,  his  abject  poverty  of  spirit,  made  him  as  despicable 
as  he  was  odious,  we  are  left  in  amazement  at  his  achieving  the  place 
which  he  filled,  without  the  requisite  most  essential  to  success  in  times 
of  trouble,  and  to  regard  as  his  distinguishing  but  pitiful  characteristic 
the  circumstance  which  leaves  the  deepest  impression  upon  those  who 
contemplate  his  story,  and  in  which  he  is  to  be  separated  from  the  com- 
mon herd  of  usurpers,  that  his  cowardly  nature  did  not  prevent  him 
from  gaining  the  prize  which,  in  all  other  instances,  has  been  yielded 
to  a  daring  spirit. 

Such  was  Robespierre — a  name  at  which  all  men  still  shudder. 
Reader,  think  not  that  this  spectacle  has  been  exhibited  by  Providence 
for  no  purpose,  and  without  any  use  !  It  may  serve  as  a.  warning  against 
giving  way  to  our  scorn  of  creatures  that  seem  harmless  because  of  the 
disproportion  between  their  mischievous  propensities  and  their  powers 
to  injure,  and  against  suifering  them  to  breathe  and  to  crawl  till  they 
begin  to  ascend  into  regions  where  they  may  be  more  noxious  than  in 
their  congenial  dunghill,  or  native  dust ! 

From  "  Eminent  Statesmen." 


202  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   COURT    OF    CHARLES   II. 

LORD  JOHN  RUSSELL. 

THE  court  of  Charles  II.  carried  the  dissolution  of  morals  to  the 
greatest  pitch.  And  the  stage  at  that  time  united  the  profligacy  of 
French  with  the  coarseness  of  English  manners.  The  king  loved  to 
practise,  and  was  forward  to  encourage,  the  most  unbounded  license  in 
conversation  as  well  as  in  conduct.  The  loosest  jest  and  the  most 
indecent  words  were  admitted  into  polished  society,  and  even  disgraced 
the  literature  of  the  day.  Nor  was  it  found  possible  to  import  the 
gallantry  and  dissipation  of  other  climates  without  some  mixture  of 
the  darker  vices.  Sir  John  Denham  and  Lord  Chesterfield  have  both 
been  accused  of  murdering  their  wives  by  poison,  and  the  latter  is  said 
to  have  added  deeper  horror  to  his  crime  by  administering  death  in  the 
cup  of  communion.  These  stories,  whether  true  or  false,  could  only 
have  found  belief  in  a  profligate  age.  It  seemed  as  if  the  domestic 
character  of  the  nation  was  about  to  undergo  an  alarming  change. 

But  the  mass  of  English  gentry  did  not  follow  the  example  of  their 
sovereign  ;  and  he  who  examined  beneath  the  surface  would  have  found 
the  soil  rich  in  honor  and  virtue.  The  same  age  which  produced  the 
poetry  of  Rochester  and  the  plays  of  Dryden,  gave  birth  to  the  writings 
of  South,  Taylor,  and  Barrow.  And  whilst  the  wits  of  the  court  were 
ridiculing  the  epic  poem  of  Milton,  that  sublime  work  was  passing 
through  the  hands  of  thousands,  and  obtaining  for  its  author  that  better 
sort  of  immortality  which  is  gained  by  uniting  the  sentiments  of  a  good 
man  with  the  inspiration  of  a  great  poet. 


THE   CHARACTER  OF   JAMES  I. 

SANFORD.    « 

JAMES  has  been  called  a  "learned  fool,"  and  his  lucubrations  on 
government  and  royal  authority,  when  we  consider  the  position  in 
which  he  was  he  was  practically  placed,  certainly  entitle  him  to  the 
epithet.  Royal  despotism  seems  to  have  possessed  for  him  all  the 
attraction  of  forbidden  fruit,  and  the  mortifications  which  he  was  con- 
stantly compelled  to  undergo  from  insolent  nobles  and  presuming 
preachers,  appear  to  have  had  only  the  effect  of  impressing  more 
strongly  on  his  mind  a  sense  of  the  theoretical  irresponsibility  of  the 
crown.  His  chimerical  design  was  no  other  than  to  subvert  the  con- 
stitution of  England,  and  to  establish  in  its  place  a  despotic  monarchy. 
A  dissembler  by  nature  and  by  long  habit,  he  dissembled  badly, 
and  only  succeeded  in  destroying  all  confidence  in  his  most  solemn 
assurances.  With  all  his  boasted  state-craft,  he  was  never  able  to  con- 
ceal his  projects  until  a  favorable  moment  for  their  execution ;  and  by 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  203 

the  pompous  language  with  which  he  heralded  them,  called  forth  an 
opposition  which  stifled  them  in  the  birth.  He  was  a  coward,  both 
morally  and  physically ;  and  this  fact  exercised  a  material  influence 
on  the  character  of  the  contest  during  his  life.  His  vanity  led  him 
continually  to  assume  to  himself  in  words  a  sovereign  power  entirely 
inconsistent  with  the  constitution,  and  accommodated  to  some  theory  of 
his  own  brain ;  while  the  same  love  of  seeming  power  induced  him  fre- 
quently to  interfere  with  the  privileges  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
when  prompted  by  his  necessities  to  have  recourse  to  various  illegal 
means  of  raising  money :  but,  when  called  to  account  for  this  language 
and  these  proceedings,  he  gave  way,  not  as  Elizabeth,  but  in  a  manner 
congenial  with  his  own  spirit ;  a  great  deal  of  bluster  was  always  fol- 
lowed by  an  agony  of  terror  and  humiliation. 


THE   POLICY   OF   QUEEN   ELIZABETH. 

LORD  MACAULAT. 

IF  such  a  man  as  Charles  I.  had  been  in  the  place  of  Queen  Elizabeth 
when  the  whole  nation  was  crying  out  against  the  monopolies,  he  would 
have  refused  all  redress.  He  would  have  dissolved  the  Parliament,  and 
imprisoned  the  most  popular  members.  He  would  have  called  another 
Parliament.  He  would  have  given  some  vague  and  delusive  promises 
of  relief  in  return  for  subsidies.  When  entreated  to  fulfil  his  promises, 
he  would  have  again  dissolved  the  Parliament,  and  again  imprisoned 
his  leading  opponents.  The  country  would  have  become  more  agitated 
than  before.  The  next  House  of  Commons  would  have  been  more 
unmanageable  than  that  which  preceded  it.  The  tyrant  would  have 
agreed  to  all  that  the  nation  demanded.  He  would  have  solemnly  rati- 
fied an  act  abolishing  monopolies  for  ever.  He  would  have  received 
a  large  supply  in  return  for  this  concession  ;  and  within  half  a  year 
new  patents,  more  oppressive  than  those  which  had  been  cancelled, 
would  have  been  issued  by  scores.  Such  was  the  policy  which  brought 
the  heir  of  a  long  line  of  kings,  in  early  youth  the  darling  of  his  coun- 
trymen, to  a  prison  and  a  scaffold. 

Elizabeth,  before  the  House  of  Commons  could  address  her,  took  out 
of  their  mouths  the  words  which  they  were  about  to  utter  in  the  name 
of  the  nation.  Her  promises  went  beyond  their  desires.  Her  perform- 
ance followed  close  upon  her  promise.  She  did  not  treat  the  nation  as 
an  adverse  party,  as  a  party  which  had  an  interest  opposed  to  hers,  as 
a  party  to  which  she  was  to  grant  as  few  advantages  as  possible,  and 
from  which  she  was  to  extort  as  much  money  as  possible.  Her  benefits 
were  given,  not  sold ;  and,  when  once  given,  they  were  never  with- 


204          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

drawn.  She  gave  them,  too,  with  a  frankness,  an  effusion  of  heart,  a 
princely  dignity,  a  motherly  tenderness,  which  enhanced  their  value. 
They  were  received  by  the  sturdy  country  gentlemen  who  had  come 
up  to  Westminster  full  of  resentment,  with  tears  of  joy,  and  shouts  of 
"  God  save  the  Queen  !"  Charles  the  First  gave  up  half  the  preroga- 
tives of  his  crown  to  the  Commons,  and  the  Commons  sent  him  in 
return  the  Grand  Remonstrance. 

From  "  History  of  England." 


THE   CATHEDEAL   AT  EOUEN. 

DR.  DURBIX. 

LET  us  enter  the  gloomy  Gothic  pile.  Our  sensations  are  indescri- 
bable. It  is  not  admiration — it  is  not  the  religious  sentiment,  but  a 
strange  astonishment,  not  unmingled  with  awe,  yet  certainly  not  akin 
to  reverence.  The  long  ranges  of  lofty  pillars ;  the  countless  sharp 
Gothic  arches ;  the  numerous  chapels  on  either  side,  adorned  with  pic- 
tures and  statuary,  frequently  with  candles  burning  before  the  image 
of  the  Virgin  with  the  infant  Jesus  in  her'arms,  all  seen  in  a  flood  of 
light  poured  into  the  church  through  more  than  a  hundred  windows, 
whose  glass  is  stained  with  every  shade  of  color,  from  fiery  red  to  the 
soft  tints  fading  into  white,  until  nave,  and  choir,  and  aisles  seem  ma- 
gically illuminated  ;  the  silence  that  reigns  in  the  vast  space,  broken 
only  by  the  occasional  footfall  of  a  priest  in  his  long  black  robe,  flitting 
along  the  nave,  or  entering  one  of  the  numerous  confessionals,  followed 
by  a  penitent ;  with  here  and  there  the  form  of  an  aged  and  decrepit 
female  kneeling  in  superstitious  reverence  before  some  favorite  image ; 
all  taken  together,  overpower  the  eye  and  the  mind  of  the  Protestant 
traveller,  unaccustomed  to  such  scenes,  with  strange  impressions  and 
oppressive  feelings,  and  .he  retires  from  his  first  visit  confused  and 

astonished. 

From  "  Observations  in  Europe." 


AET   IN  ANTWEEP. 

DR.  DURBIN. 

IF  commerce  and  wealth  have  departed  from  Antwerp,  she  inherits 
an  imperishable  glory  in  the  fame  of  her  arts.  The  cradle  of  the 
Flemish  school  of  painting,  the  home  of  Rubens,  Vandyk,  and  Teniers, 
Antwerp  is  still  the  repository  of  their  choicest  works,  which  attract 
visiters  from  all  parts  of  Europe,  who  are,  indeed,  the  chief  support 
of  the  place.  Its  steamboats,  its  hotels,  its  innumerable  commission- 
ers and  valets,  all  depend  upon  strangers  for  their  employment. 

The  Descent  from  the  Cross,  the  master-piece  of  Rubens,  hangs  in 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  205 

the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame,  in  which  building  are  also  preserved  the 
Elevation  of  the  Cross,  the  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,  and  the  Resurrec- 
tion, all  by  the  same  great  master,  and  marked  by  the  boldness  of  con- 
ception and  strength  of  coloring  that  characterized  his  genius.  The 
Descent  from  the  Cross  involves  in  the  position  of  the  prominent  figures 
some  of  the  greatest  difficulties  of  the  art,  which  are  admirably  sur- 
mounted by  the  painter.  The  head  hanging  languidly  on  the  shoulder, 
and  the  sinking  of  the  body  on  one  side,  are  the  impersonation  of  the 
heaviness  of  death.  But  the  Crucifixion,  by  Vandyk,  preserved  in  the 
Museum,  struck  me  most  forcibly ;  I  could  not  repress  indignation, 
sorrow,  even  tears,  as  I  gazed  upon  the  image  of  the  Crucified  stooping 
meekly  and  yielding  his  bleeding  back  to  the  strokes  of  the  scourge, 
while  the  blue  marks  of  the  thong  verged  into  blackness,  and  the  dark 
blood  trickled  from  the  fearful  wounds. 

From  "  Observations  in  Europe" 


DOMESTIC   COMFOET  IN   THE   FIFTEENTH   CENTUKY. 

HALLAM. 

IF  the  domestic  buildings  of  the  fifteenth  century  would  not  seem 
very  spacious  or  convenient  at  present,  far  less  would  this  luxurious 
generation  be  content  with  their  internal  accommodations.  A  gentle- 
man's house  containing  three  or  four  beds  was  extraordinarily  well 
provided;  few  probably  had  more  than  two.  The  walls  were  com- 
monly bare,  without  wainscot,  or  even  plaster,  except  that  some  great 
houses  were  furnished  with  hangings,  and  that,  perhaps,  hardly  so 
soon  as  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.  It  is  unnecessary  to  add,  that  neither 
libraries  of  books  nor  pictures  could  have  found  a  place  among  furni- 
ture. Silver  plate  was  very  rare,  and  hardly  used  for  the  table.  A 
few  inventories  of  furniture  that  still  remain,  exhibit  a  miserable  defi- 
ciency. And  this  was  incomparably  greater  in  private  gentlemen's 
houses  than  among  citizens,  and  especially  foreign  merchants.  We 
have  an  inventory  of  the  goods  belonging  to  Contarini,  a  rich  Venetian 
trader,  at  his  house  in  St.  Botolph's  Lane,  A.  D.  1481.  There  appear  to 
have  been  no  less  than  ten  beds,  and  glass-windows  are  specially 
noticed  as  movable  furniture.  No  mention,  however,  is  made  of 
chairs,  or  looking-glasses.  If  we  compare  this  account,  however 
trifling  in  our  estimation,  with  a  similar  inventory  of  furniture  in 
Skipton  Castle,  the  great  honor  of  the  earls  of  Cumberland,  and  among 
the  most  splendid  mansions  of  the  north,  not  at  the  same  period,  for  I 
have  not  found  any  inventory  of  a  nobleman's  furniture  so  ancient,  but 
in  1572,  after  almost  a  century  of  continual  improvement,  we  shall  be 
astonished  at  the  inferior  provision  of  the  baronial  residence.  There 
were  not  more  than  seven  or  eight  beds  in  this  great  castle,  nor  had 
18 


206  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

any  of  the  chambers  either  chairs,  glasses,  or  carpets.  It  is  in  this 
sense,  probably,  that  we  must  understand  ^Eneas  Sylvius,  if  he  meant 
anything  more  than  to  express  a  traveller's  discontent,  when  he  declares 
that  the  kings  of  Scotland  would  rejoice  to  be  as  well  lodged  as  the 
second  class  of  citizens  at  Nuremberg.  Few  burghers  of  that  town  had 
mansions,  I  presume,  equal  to  the  palaces  of  Dunfermline  or  Stirling, 
but  it  is  not  unlikely  that  they  were  better  furnished. 

In  the  construction  of  farm-houses  and  cottages,  especially  the  latter, 
there  have  probably  been  fewer  changes  ;  and  those  it  would  be  more 
difficult  to  follow.  Cottages  in  England  seem  to  have  generally  con- 
sisted of  a  single  room,  without  division  of  stories.  Chimneys  were 
unknown  in  such  dwellings  till  the  early  part  of  Elizabeth's  reign, 
when  a  very  rapid  and  sensible  improvement  took  place  in  the  comforts 
of  our  yeomanry  and  cottagers. 

From  "  History  of  the  Middle  Ages." 


TACITUS  AS  A  HISTORIAN. 

LORD  MACAULAT. 

IN  the  delineation  of  character,  Tacitus  is  unrivalled  among  histo- 
rians, and  has  very  few  superiors  among  dramatists  and  novelists.  By 
the  delineation  of  character,  we  do  not  mean  the  practice  of  drawing 
up  epigrammatic  catalogues  of  good  and  bad  qualities,  and  appending 
them  to  the  names  of  eminent  men.  No  writer,  indeed,  has  done  this 
more  skilfully  than  Tacitus :  but  this  is  not  his  peculiar  glory.  All  the 
persons  who  occupy  a  large  space  in  his  works  have  an  individuality 
of  character  which  seems  to  pervade  all  their  words  and  actions. 
We  know  them  as  if  we  had  lived  with  them.  Claudius,  Nero,  Otho, 
both  the  Agrippinas,  are  masterpieces.  But  Tiberius  is  a  still  higher 
miracle  of  art.  The  historian  undertook  to  make  us  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  a  man  singularly  dark  and  inscrutable — with  a  man 
whose  real  disposition  long  remained  swathed  up  in  intricate  folds  of 
factitious  virtues  ;  and  over  whose  actions  the  hypocrisy  of  his  youth, 
and  the  seclusion  of  his  old  age,  threw  a  singular  mystery.  He  was  to 
exhibit  the  specious  qualities  of  the  tyrant  in  a  light  which  might  ren- 
der them  transparent,  and  enable  us  at  once  to  perceive  the  covering 
and  the  vices  which  it  concealed.  He  was  to  trace  the  gradations  by 
which  the  first  magistrate  of  a  republic,  a  senator,  mingling  freely  in 
debate,  a  noble  associating  with  his  brother  nobles,  was  transformed 
into  an  Asiatic  sultan ;  he  was  to  exhibit  a  character  distinguished  by 
courage,  self-command,  and  profound  policy,  yet  defiled  by  all 

"th'  extravagancy 
And  crazy  ribaldry  of  fancy." 

He  was  to  mark  the  gradual  effect  of  advancing  age  and  approaching 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  2U7 

death  on  this  strange  compound  of  strength  and  weakness ;  to  exhibit 
the  old  sovereign  of  the  world  sinking  into  a  dotage  which,  though  it 
rendered  his  appetites  eccentric,  and  his  temper  savage,  never  impaired 
the  powers  of  his  stern  and  penetrating  mind,  conscious  of  failing 
strength,  raging  with  capricious  sensuality,  yet  to  the  last  the  keer.cst 
of  observers,  the  most  artful  of  dissemblers,  and  the  most  terrible  of 
masters.  The  task  was  one  of  extreme  difficulty.  The  execution  is 
almost  perfect. 

From  "  Essay  on  History." 


MONTICELLO. 

WILLIAM  WIRT. 

THE  mansion-house  at  Monticello  was  built  and  furnished  in  the 
days  of  Jefferson's  prosperity.  In  its  dimensions,  its  architecture,  its 
arrangements,  and  ornaments,  it  is  such  a  one  as  became  the  character 
and  fortune  of  the  man.  It  stands  upon  an  elliptic  plain,  formed  by 
cutting  down  the  apex  of  a  mountain;  and,  on  the  west,  stretching  away 
to  the  north  and  the  south,  it  commands  a  view  of  the  Blue  Ridge  for 
a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  and  brings  under  the  eye  one  of  the  boldest 
and  most  beautiful  horizons  in  the  world  :  while,  on  the  east,  it  pre- 
sents an  extent  of  prospect,  bounded  only  by  the  spherical  form  of  the 
earth,  in  which  nature  seems  to  sleep  in  eternal  repose,  as  if  to  form 
one  of  her  finest  contrasts  with  the  rude  and  rolling  grandeur  on  the 
west.  In  the  wide  prospect,  and  scattered  to  the  north  and  south,  are 
several  detached  mountains,  which  contribute  to  animate  and  diversify 
this  enchanting  landscape ;  and  among  them,  to  the  south,  Williss' 
Mountain,  which  is  so  interestingly  depicted  in  his  Notes.  From  this 
summit,  the  Philosopher  was  wont  to  enjoy  that  spectacle,  among  the 
sublimest  of  nature's  operations,  the  looming  of  the  distant  mountains  ; 
and  to  watch  the  motions  of  the  planets,  and  the  greater  revolution  of 
the  celestial  sphere.  From  this  summit,  too,  the  Patriot  could  look 
down,  with  uninterrupted  vision,  upon  the  wide  expanse  of  the  world 
around,  for  which  he  considered  himself  born;  and  upward,  to  the  open 
and  vaulted  heavens,  which  he  seemed  to  approach,  as  if  to  keep  him 
continually  in  mind  of  his  high  responsibility.  It  is  indeed  a  prospect 
in  which  you  see  and  feel,  at  once,  that  nothing  mean  or  little  could 
live.  It  is  a  scene  fit  to  nourish  those  great  and  high-souled  principles 
which  formed  the  elements  of  his  character,  and  was  a  most  noble  and 
appropriate  post  for  such  a  sentinel  over  the  rights  and  liberties  of 
man. 

Approaching  the  house  on  the  east,  the  visitor  instinctively  paused, 
to  cast  around  one  thrilling  glance  at  this  magnificent  panorama  ;  and 
then  passed  to  the  vestibule,  where,  if  he  had  not  been  previously 


208          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

informed,  he  would  immediately  perceive  that  he  was  entering  the 
house  of  no  common  man.  In  the  spacious  and  lofty  hall  which  opens 
before  him,  he  marks  no  tawdry  and  unmeaning  ornaments  ;  but 
before,  on  the  right,  on  the  left,  all  around,  the  eye  is  struck  and  grati- 
fied with  objects  of  science  and  taste,  so  classed  and  arranged  as  to 
produce  their  finest  effect.  On  one  side,  specimens  of  sculpture  set 
out,  in  such  order,  as  to  exhibit  at  a  coup  d'ceil  the  historical  progress 
of  that  art,  from  the  first  rude  attempts  of  the  aborigines  of  our  coun- 
try, up  to  that  exquisite  and  finished  bust  of  the  great  patriot  himself, 
from  the  master  hand  of  Caracci.  On  the  other  side,  the  visitor  sees 
displayed  a  vast  colleption  of  specimens  of  Indian  art,  their  paintings, 
weapons,  ornaments,  and  manufactures ;  on  another,  an  array  of  the 
fossil  productions  of  our  country,  mineral  and  animal ;  the  polished 
remains  of  those  colossal  monsters  that  once  trod  our  forests,  and  are 
no  more ;  and  a  variegated  display  of  the  branching  honors  of  those 
"  mouarchs  of  the  waste,"  that  still  people  the  wilds  of  the  American 
Continent. 

From  this  hall  he  was  ushered  into  a  noble  saloon,  from  which  the 
glorious  landscape  of  the  west  again  bursts  upon  his  view ;  and  which, 
within,  is  hung  thick  around  with  the  finest  productions  of  the  pencil — 
historical  paintings  of  the  most  striking  subjects,  from  all  countries, 
and  all  ages  ;  the  portraits  of  distinguished  men  and  patriots,  both  of 
Europe  and  America,  and  medallions  and  engravings  in  endless  pro- 
fusion. 

From  "  Eulogy  on  Jefferson  and  Adams,"  1826. 


EULOGY   ON   CALHOUN. 

DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

WE  are  of  the  same  age :  I  made  my  first  entrance  into  the  House 
of  Representatives  in  May,  1813,  and  there  found  Mr.  Calhoun.  He 
had  already  been  in  that  body  for  tvro  or  three  years.  I  found  him  then 
an  active  and  efficient  member  of  the  assembly  to  which  he  belonged, 
taking  a  decided  part,  and  exercising  a  decided  influence,  in  all  its 
deliberations. 

From  that  day  to  the  day  of  his  death,  amidst  all  the  strifes  of  party 
and  politics,  there  has  subsisted  between  us,  always  and  without  inter- 
ruption, a  great  degree  of  personal  kindness. 

Differing  widely  on  many  great  questions  respecting  the  institutions 
and  government  of  the  country,  those  differences  never  interrupted  our 
personal  and  social  intercourse.  I  have  been  present  at  most  of  the 
distinguished  instances  of  the  exhibition  of  his  talents  in  debate.  I 
have  always  heard  him  with  pleasure,  often  with  much  instruction, 
not  unfrequently  with  the  highest  degree  of  admiration. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  209 

Mr.  Calhoun  was  calculated  to  be  a  leader  in  whatsoever  association 
of  political  friends  he  was  thrown.  He  was  a  man  of  undoubted 
genius,  and  of  commanding  talent.  All  the  country  and  all  the  world 
admit  that.  His  mind  was  both  perceptive  and  vigorous.  It  was  clear, 
quick,  and  strong. 

Sir,  the  eloquence  of  Mr.  Calhoun,  or  the  manner  of  his  exhibition 
of  his  sentiments  in  public  bodies,  was  part  of  his  intellectual  charac- 
ter. It  grew  out  of  the  qualities  of  his  mind.  It  was  plain,  strong, 
terse,  condensed,  concise ;  sometimes  impassioned — still  always  severe. 
Rejecting  ornament,  not  often  seeking  far  for  illustration,  his  power 
consisted  in  the  plainness  of  his  propositions,  in  the  closeness  of  his 
logic,  and  in  the  earnestness  and  energy  of  his  manner.  These  are 
the  qualities,  as  I  think,  which  have  enabled  him,  through  such  a  long 
course  of  years,  to  speak  often,  and  yet  always  command  attention. 
His  demeanor  as  a  Senator  is  known  to  us  all — is  appreciated,  vene- 
rated by  us  all.  No  man  was  more  respectful  to  others;  no  man 
carried  himself  with  greater  decorum,  no  man  with  superior  dignity. 
I  think  there  is  not  one  of  us  but  felt  when  he  last  addressed  us  from 
his  seat  in  the  Senate,  his  form  still  erect,  with  a  voice  by  no  means 
indicating  such  a  degree  of  physical  weakness  as  clid,  in  fact,  possess 
him,  with  clear  tones,  and  an  impressive,  and,  I  may  say,  an  imposing 
manner,  who  did  not  feel  that  he  might  imagine  that  we  saw  before  us 
a  Senator  of  Rome,  when  Rome  survived. 

Sir,  I  have  not  in  public  nor  in  private  life  known  a  more  assiduous 
person  in  the  discharge  of  his  appropriate  duties.  I  have  known  no 
man  who  wasted  less  of  life  in  what  is  called  recreation,  or  employed 
less  of  it  in  any  pursuits  not  connected  with  the  immediate  discharge 
of  his  duty.  He  seemed  to  have  no  recreation  but  the  pleasure  of  con- 
versation with  his  friends.  Out  of  the  chambers  of  Congress,  he  was 
either  devoting  himself  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  pertaining  to 
the  immediate  subject  of  the  duty  before  him,  or  else  he  was  indulging 
in  those  social  interviews  in  which  he  so  much  delighted. 

My  honorable  friend  from  Kentucky  has  spoken  in  just  terms  of  his 
colloquial  talents.  They  certainly  were  singular  and  eminent.  There 
was  a  charm  in  his  conversation  not  often  found.  He  delighted,  espe- 
cially, in  conversation  and  intercourse  with  young  men.  I  suppose 
that  there  has  been  no  man  among  us  who  had  more  winning  manners, 
and  such  an  intercourse  and  conversation,  with  men  comparatively 
young,  than  Mr.  Calhoun.  I  believe  one  great  power  of  his  character, 
in  general,  was  his  conversational  talent.  I  believe  it  is  that,  as  well 
as  a  consciousness  of  his  high  integrity,  and  the  greatest  reverence  for 
his  intellect  and  ability,  that  has  made  him  so  endeared  an  object  to 
the  people  of  the  state  to  which  he  belonged. 

Mr.  President,  he  had  the  basis,  the  indispensable  basis,  of  all  high 
18*  0 


210          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

character;  and  that  was  unspotted  integrity — unimpeached  honor  and 
character.  If  he  had  aspirations,  they  were  high,  and  honorable,  and 
noble.  There  was  nothing  grovelling,  or  low,  or  meanly  selfish,  that 
came  near  the  head  or  the  heart  of  Mr.  Calhoun.  Firm  in  his  purpose, 
perfectly  patriotic  and  honest,  as  I  am  sure  he  was,  in  the  principles 
that  he  espoused,  and  in  the  measures  that  he  defended,  aside  from 
that  large  regard  for  that  species  of  distinction  that  conducted  him  to 
eminent  stations  for  the  benefit  of  the  republic,  I  do  not  believe  he  had 
a  selfish  motive,  or  selfish  feeling. 

However,  sir,  he  may  have  differed  from  others  of  us  in  his  political 
opinions  or  his  political  principles,  those  principles  and  those  opinions 
will  now  descend  to  posterity,  under  the  sanction  of  a  great  name. 
He  has  lived  long  enough,  he  has  done  enough,  and  he  has  done  it  so 
well,  so  successfully,  so  honorably,  as  to  connect  himself  for  all  time 
with  the  records  of  his  country.  He  is  now  a  historical  character. 
Those  of  us  who  have  known  him  here,  will  find  that  he  has  left  upon 
our  minds  and  our  hearts  a  strong  and  lasting  impression  of  his  person, 
his  character,  and  his  public  performances,  which,  while  we  live,  will 
never  be  obliterated.  We  shall  hereafter,  I  am  sure,  indulge  in  it  as  a 
grateful  recollection,  that  we  have  lived  in  his  age  ;  that  we  have  been 
his  contemporaries,  that  we  have  seen  him,  and  heard  him,  and  known 
him.  We  shall  delight  to  speak  of  him  to  those  who  are  rising  up  to 
fill  our  places.  And,  when  the  time  shall  come  when  we  ourselves 
shall  go,  one  after  another,  in  succession  to  our  graves,  we  shall  carry 
with  us  a  deep  sense  of  his  genius  and  character,  his  honor  and  integ- 
rity, his  amiable  deportment  in  private  life,  and  the  purity  of  his 
exalted  patriotism. 

From  "  Speech  in  the  Senate,"  1850. 


MURDEK   OF   THOMAS   A  BECKET. 

A.  THIERRY. 

THOMAS  A  BECKET  had  just  finished  his  morning  repast,  and  his 
servitors  were  still  at  the  table.  He  saluted  the  Normans  upon  their 
entrance,  and  demanded  the  object  of  their  visit.  After  a  few  minutes 
of  silence,  Reginald  Fitz-Urse  spoke : — "  We  have  come,"  said  he,  "  on 
the  part  of  the  king,  to  demand  that  the  excommunicated  persons  shall 
be  absolved,  that  the  suspended  Bishops  be  re-established,  and  that 
you,  yourself,  explain  your  designs  against  the  king."  "  It  is  not  I," 
answered  Thomas,  "  it  is  the  sovereign  pontiff  himself  who  excommu- 
nicated the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  who  alone,  in  consequence,  has 
the  right  to  absolve  him ;  as  for  the  rest,  I  will  re-establish  them,  if  they 
will  make  their  submission  to  me."  "  From  whom  then  do  you  hold 
your  Archbishopric?"  demanded  Reginald ;  "  from  the  king,  or  from  the 
Pope ?"  "I  hold  the  spiritual  rights  from  God  and  the  Pope,  and  the 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  211 

temporal  rights  from  the  king."  "  What!  is  it  not  the  king  who  has 
given  you  everything?"  "  By  no  means,"  answered  Becket.  Here  the 
Normans  began  to  bite  their  gloves,  and  to  express  impatience.  "  I 
think  you  mean  to  threaten  me,"  .said  the  Primate,  "  but  it  is  useless ; 
if  all  the  swords  in  England  were  raised  over  my  head,  you  would 
gain  nothing  from  me."  "  Well,  then,  we  will  do  better  than  threaten," 
cried  out  Fitz-Urse,  rising  suddenly ;  the  others  followed  him  towards 
the  door,  crying  out,  To  arms !  The  door  of  the  apartment  was  closed 
immediately  behind  them.  Keginald  armed  himself  in  the  court-yard, 
taking  an  axe  from  the  hands  of  a  carpenter  who  was  working  there. 
He  struck  against  the  door  to  open  it  or  break  it  in ;  the  people  of  the 
house,  hearing  the  blows  of  the  axe,  entreated  the  Archbishop  to  take 
refuge  in  the  church,  which  communicated  by  a  gallery  with  his  apart- 
ment. He  would  not.  They  were  going  to  drag  him  thither  by  force, 
when  one  of  the  assistants  remarked  that  the  vesper-bell  was  ringing. 
"  Since  it  is  the  hour  of  my  duty,  1  will  go  to  the  church,"  he  said  ; 
and  causing  them  to  bear  before  him  the  cross,  he  walked  slowly 
through  the  gallery,  and  then  towards  the  great  altar. 

Scarcely  were  his  feet  upon  the  steps  of  the  altar,  when  Reginald 
Fitz-Urse  appeared  at  the  other  end  of  the  church  completely  armed, 
carrying  in  his  hand  his  two-edged  sword,  crying  out,  "  Hither!  hither! 
loyal  servants  of  the  king."  The  other  conspirators  followed  him, 
armed  cap-a-pie,  brandishing  their  swords.  One  cried  out,  "  Where  is 
the  traitor?"  Becket  did  not  answer.  "Where  is  the  Archbishop?" 
"Here,"  replied  Becket;  "but  there  is  no  traitor  here;  what  are  you 
doing  in  the  house  of  God  in  such  armor?  what  is  your  purpose?" 
"  To  slay  you  !"  was  the  answer.  "  I  am  resigned,"  replied  the  Arch- 
bishop, "  you  will  not  see  me  fly  from  your  swords ;  but,  in  the  name 
of  the  Almighty  God,  I  forbid  you  to  touch  one  of  my  companions, 
clergy  or  lay,  great  or  small."  At  that  moment  he  received  from 
behind  a  blow  with  the  flat  of  the  sword  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  person 
who  struck  it,  said,  "Fly,  or  you  are  a  dead  man."  He  did  not  move; 
the  armed  men  undertook  to  drag  him  outside  of  the  church,  being 
scrupulous  about  killing  him  there ;  he  struggled  with  them,  declaring 
that  he  would  not  go  out ;  that  he  would  compel  them  to  execute  upon 
that  very  spot,  their  intentions  or  their  orders.  William  de  Tracy 
raised  his  sword,  and  at  one  blow  cut  off  the  hand  of  a  Saxon  monk 
named  Edward  Gryn,  and  wounded  Becket  on  the  head.  A  second 
blow,  given  by  another  Norman,  thi-ew  him  down  with  his  face  against 
the  ground ;  a  third  clove  his  skull,  and  was  given  with  such  violence, 
that  the  sword  was  broken  against  the  pavement.  William  Mautrait 
then  pushed  the  motionless  body  with  his  foot,  saying, — "  Thus  perish 
the  traitor  who  has  disturbed  the  kingdom,  and  caused  the  English  to 
rebel." 

Original  translation  from  "  Conquest  of  England"  Ac. 


212          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


THE   COSMOS. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

IN  February,  1827,  Humboldt  removed  from  Paris.  He  did  not 
proceed  directly  to  Berlin,  but  joined  his  brother's  son-in-law,  Count 
Billow,  who  had  just  been  appointed  ambassador  to  England,  on  a 
journey  to  London.  Humboldt's  stay  in  England  was  short,  for  in 
May  we  find  him  permanently  settled  in  Berlin.  He  found  his  brother 
in  Berlin,  for  he  had  a  residence  there,  as  well  as  at  Tegel,  and  scores 
of  his  old  friends,  among  others  Augustus  Schlegel.  The  king  received 
him  with  open  arms,  and  conferred  upon  him  the  title  of  privy 
councillor.  He  might  have  been  secretary  of  state,  if  he  had  chosen ; 
indeed,  there  was  no  office  too  good  for  him,  but  he  loved  science  too 
well  to  change  it  for  politics.  Never  enamored  of  that  artful,  but 
powerful  goddess,  who,  whatever  her  faults,  is  sure  in  the  end  to 
reward  her  worshippers,  he  was  less  likely  to  be  won  by  her  blandish- 
ments then,  than  at  any  other  period  of  his  life.  He  had  a  new  and 
grand  scheme  on  foot, — one  that  he  had  pondered  over  for  years.  He 
thought  of  it  at  Paris,  in  his  study  among  his  books  and  manuscripts, 
and  in  the  salons  of  art  and  fashion,  among  the  wise  and  the  foolish. 
He  thought  of  it  in  Mexico,  as  he  groped  his  way  in  the  darkness  of 
the  mines,  or  wandered  among  the  ruins  of  vanished  nations.  He 
thought  of  it  in  Peru,  on  the  rugged  sides  of  Chimborazo  and  Cotopaxi ; 
in  the  terrible  pass  of  Quindiu  ;  in  the  dense  forests  of  the  Orinoco,  and 
at  Cumana  among  the  earthquakes.  He  thought  of  it  on  the  deck  of 
the  Pizarro  in  the  midst  of  the  sea,  and  on  the  crater  of  Teneriffe  in 
the  illimitable  wilderness  of  air.  He  thought  of  it  everywhere,  by  day 
and  at  night,  in  his  waking  moments,  and  in  his  dreams.  It  was 
always  with  him.  It  was  the  one  thought  of  his  thoughts,  his  first  and 
last  conception,  the  most  majestic  statue  of  his  house  of  life.  It  was 
"  Kosmos."  "  Its  undefined  image,"  he  wrote  in  1844,  "  has  floated 
before  my  mind  for  almost  half  a  century." 

All  the  travels  that  he  had  undertaken,  and  all  the  books  that  he  had 
written,  related  to  this  great  work.  It  was  not  as  a  traveller  that  h.e 
had  crossed  the  sea,  and  explored  unknown  lands  :  nor  yet  as  a  man 
of  science :  but  as  the  traveller,  the  man  of  science.  He  aimed  at  no 
common  fame.  Indeed,  he  aimed  at  none.  It  was  to  a  nobler  object 
than  "  the  bauble  reputation"  that  he  devoted  his  life  ;  it  was  a  thirst 
for  knowledge,  a  passion  for  wisdom,  not  in  one  thingj  or  many  things, 
but  in  all  things.  To  be  a  wise  man  was  not  enough  ;  he  would  be  the 
wisest  of  men.  His  wisdom  was  universal,  like  the  Universe  to  which 
it  was  directed,  and  which  he  understood*,  if  ever  man  did,  or  can 
understand  it. 

From  "  Life  of  Humloldt." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  213 


LA  VALETTE   AT   MALTA. 

PRESCOTT. 

LA  VALETTE  was  one  of  those  rare  men  whom  Providence  seems  to 
raise  up  for  special  occasions,  so  wonderfully  are  their  peculiar  quali- 
ties suited  to  the  emergency.  To  that  attachment  to  his  order  which 
he  had  in  common  with  his  brethren,  he  united  a  strong  religious 
sentiment,  sincere  and  self-sacrificing,  which  shone  through  every  act 
of  his  life.  This  gave  him  an  absolute  ascendency  over  his  followers, 
which  he  had  the  capacity  to  turn  to  full  account.  He  possessed  many 
of  the  requisites  for  success  in  action  ;  great  experience,  a  quick  eye, 
a  cool  judgment.  To  these  was  united  a  fixedness  of  purpose  not  to 
be  shaken  by  menace  or  entreaty ;  and  which  was  only  to  be  redeemed 
from  the  imputation  of  obstinacy  by  the  extraordinary  character  of  the 
circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed.  The  reader  will  recall  a 
memorable  example,  when  La  Valette  insisted  on  defending  St.  Elmo 
to  the  last,  in  defiance  not  only  of  the  remonstrance,  but  the  resistance 
of  its  garrison.  Another  equally  pertinent  is  his  refusal,  though  in. 
opposition  to  his  council,  to  abandon  the  town  and  retire  to  St.  Angelo. 
One  can  hardly  doubt  that  on  his  decision,  in  both  these  cases,  rested 
the  fate  of  Malta. 

La  Valette  was  of  a  serious  turn,  and,  as  it  would  seem,  with  a 
tendency  to  sadness  in  his  temperament.  In  the  portraits  that  remain 
of  him,  his  noble  features  are  touched  with  a  shade  of  melancholy, 
which,  taken  in  connection  with  his  history,  greatly  heightens  the 
interest  of  their  expression.  His  was  not  the  buoyant  temper,  the  flow 
of  animal  spirits,  which  carries  a  man  over  every  obstacle  in  his  way. 
Yet  he  could  comfort  the  sick,  and  cheer  the  desponding;  not  by 
making  light  of  danger,  but  by  encouraging  them  like  brave  men 
fearlessly  to  face  it.  He  did  not  delude  his  followers  by  the  promises 
— after  he  had  himself  found  them  to  be  delusive — of  foreign  succor. 
He  taught  them,  instead,  to  rely  on  the  succor  of  the  Almighty,  who 
would  never  desert  those  who  were  fighting  in  his  cause.  He  infused 
into  them  the  spirit  of  martyrs, — that  brave  spirit  which,  arming  the 
soul  with  contempt  of  death,  makes  the  weak  man  stronger  than  the 
strongest. 

From  "  Philip  II." 


THE   MAHOMETAN"   COKSAIR. 

PkESCOTT. 


THE  corsair's  life  was  full  of  maritime  adventure.  Many  a  tale  of 
tragic  interest  was  told  of  his  exploits,  and  many  a  sad  recital  of  the 
sufferings  of  the  Christian  captive,  tugging  at  the  oar,  or  pining  in  the 


214          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

dungeons  of  Tripoli  and  Algiers.  Such  tales  formed  the  burden  of  the 
popular  minstrelsy  of  the  period,  as  well  as  of  more  elegant  literature, 
— the  drama,  and  romantic  fiction.  But  fact  was  stranger  than  fiction. 
It  would  have  been  difficult  to  exaggerate  the  number  of  the  Christian 
captives,  or  the  amount  of  their  sufferings.  On  the  conquest  of  Tunis 
by  Charles  the  Fifth,  in  1535,  ten  thousand  of  these  unhappy  persons, 
as  we  are  assured,  walked  forth  from  its  dungeons,  and  knelt,  with 
tears  of  gratitude  and  joy,  at  the  feet  of  their  liberator.  Charitable 
associations  were'  formed  in  Spain,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  raising 
funds  to  ransom  the  Barbary  prisoners.  But  the  ransom  demanded 
was  frequently  exorbitant,  and  the  efforts  of  these  benevolent  frater- 
nities made  but  a  feeble  impression  on  the  whole  number  of  captives. 

Thus  the  war  between  the  Cross  and  the  Crescent  was  still  carried 
on  along  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  when  the  day  of  the  Cru- 
sades was  past  in  most  of  the  other  quarters  of  Christendom.  The 
existence  of  the  Spaniard — as  I  have  often  had  occasion  to  remark — 
was  one  long  crusade ;  and  in  the  sixteenth  century  he  was  still  doing 
battle  with  the  infidel,  as  stoutly  as  in  the  heroic  days  of  the  Cid.  The 
furious  contests  with  the  petty  pirates  of  Barbary  engendered  in  his 
bosom  feelings  of  even  keener  hostility  than  that  which  grew  up  in  his 
contests  with  the  Arabs,  where  there  was  no  skulking,  predatory  foe, 
but  army  was  openly  arrayed  against  army,  and  they  fought  for  the 
sovereignty  of  the  Peninsula.  The  feeling  of  religious  hatred  rekindled 
by  the  Moors  of  Africa  extended,  in  some  degree,  to  the  Morisco  popu- 
lation, who  still  occupied  those  territories  on  the  southern  borders  of 
the  monarchy  which  had  belonged  to  their  ancestors,  the  Spanish 
Arabs.  This  feeling  was  increased  by  the  suspicion,  not  altogether 
without  foundation,  of  a  secret  correspondence  between  the  Moriscos 
and  their  brethren  on  the  Barbary  coast.  These  mingled  sentiments 
of  hatred  and  suspicion  sharpened  the  sword  of  persecution,  and  led 
to  most  disastrous  consequences. 

From  "  Philip  II." 


DR.   ARNOLD  AT  RUGBY. 

HUGHES. 

MORE  worthy  pens  than  mine  have  described  that  scene.  The  oak 
pulpit  standing  out  by  itself,  above  the  school  seats.  The  tall  gallant 
form,  the  kindling  eye,  the  voice,  now  soft  as  the  low  notes  of  a  flute, 
now  clear  and  stirring  as  the  call  of  the  light  infantry  bugle,  of  him 
who  stood  there  Sunday  after  Sunday,  witnessing  and  pleading  for  his 
Lord,  the  King  of  righteousness  and  love  and  glory,  with  whose  spirit 
he  was  filled,  and  in  whose  power  he  spoke.  The  long  lines  of  young 
faces  rising  tier  above  tier  down  the  whole  length  of  the  chapel,  from 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  215 

the  little  boy's  who  had  just  left  his  mother  to  the  young  man's  who 
v.-;io  going  out  next  week  into  the  great  world  rejoicing  in  his  strength. 
It  was  a  great  and  solemn  sight,  and  never  more  so  than  at  this  time 
of  year,  when  the  only  lights  in  the  chapel  were  in  the  pulpit  and  at 
the  seats  of  the  praepostors  of  the  week,  and  the  soft  twilight  stole 
over  the  rest  of  the  chapel,  deepening  into  darkness  in  the  high  gallery 
behind  the  organ. 

But  what  was  it  after  all  which  seized  and  held  these  three  hundred 
boys,  dragging  them  out  of  themselves,  willing  or  unwilling,  for  twenty 
minutes  on  Sunday  afternoons  ?  True,  there  always  were  boys  scat- 
tered up  and  down  the  school,  who,  in  heart  and  head,  were  worthy  to 
hear  and  able  to  carry  away  the  deepest  and  wisest  words  then  spoken. 
But  these  were  a  minority  always,  generally  a  very  small  one,  often 
so  small  a  one  as  to  be  countable  on  the  fingers  of  your  hand.  What 
was  it  that  moved  and  held  us,  the  rest  of  the  three  hundred  reckless 
childish  boys,  who  feared  the  Doctor  with  all  our  hearts,  and  very 
little  besides  in  heaven  or  earth  ;  who  thought  more  of  our  sets  in  the 
school  than  of  the  church  of  Christ,  and  put  the  traditions  of  Rugby 
and  the  public  opinion  of  boys  in  our  daily  life  above  the  laws  of  God  ? 
We  couldn't  enter  into  half  that  we  heard ;  we  hadn't  the  knowledge 
of  our  own  hearts  or  the  knowledge  of  one  another,  and  little  enough 
of  the  faith,  hope, 'and  love  needed  to  that  end.  But  we  listened,  as  all 
boys  in  their  better  moods  will  listen  (ay,  and  man  too  for  the  matter 
of  that),  to  a  man  whom  we  felt  to  be  with  all  his  heart  and  soul  and 
strength  striving  against  whatever  was  mean  and  unmanly  and  un- 
righteous in  our  little  world.  It  was  not  the  cold  clear  voice  of  one 
giving  advice  and  warning  from  serene  heights,  to  those  who  were 
struggling  and  sinning  below,  but  the  warm  living  voice  of  one  who 
was  fighting  for  us  and  by  our  sides,  and  calling  on  us  to  help  him 
and  ourselves  and  one  another.  And  so,  wearily  and  little  by  little, 
but  surely  and  steadily  on  the  whole,  was  brought  home  to  the  young 
boy,  for  the  first  time,  the  meaning  of  his  life :  that  it  was  no  fool's  or 
sluggard's  paradise  into  which  he  had  wandered  by  chance,  but  a 
battle-field,  ordained  from  of  old,  where  there  are  no  spectators,  but 
the  youngest  must  take  his  side,  and  the  stakes  are  life  and  death. 
And  he  who  roused  this  consciousness  in  them,  showed  them  at  the 
same  time,  by  every  word  he  spoke  in  the  pulpit,  and  by  his  whole 
daily  life,  how  that  battle  was  to  be  fought ;  and  stood  there  before 
them  their  fellow-soldier  and  the  captain  of  their  band.  The  true  sort 
of  captain  too  for  a  boys'  army,  one  who  had  no  misgivings  and  gave 
no  uncertain  word  of  command,  and,  let  who  would  yield  or  make 
truce,  would  fight  the  fight  out  (so  every  boy  felt)  to  the  last  gasp  and 
the  last  drop  of  blood.  Other  sides  of  his  character  might  take  hold 
of  and  influence  boys  here  and  there,  but  it  was  this  thoroughness  and 


216          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

undaunted  courage  which  more  than  anything  else  won  his  way  to  the 
hearts  of  the  great  mass  of  those  on  whom  he  left  his  mark,  and  made 
them  believe  first  in  him,  and  then  in  his  Master. 

From  " Tom  Brown's  School  Days" 


THE   DEATH   OF   MAJOK   HODSON  AT  LUCKNOW. 

HUGHES. 

FOR  a  week  the  siege  had  gone  on,  and  work  after  work  of  the  ene- 
my had  fallen.  On  the  llth  of  March  the  Begum's  Palace  was  to  be 
assaulted.  Hodson  had  orders  to  move  his  regiment  nearer  to  the  walls, 
and  while  choosing  a  spot  for  his  camp  heard  firing,  rode  on,  and  found 
his  friend  Brigadier  Napier  directing  the  assault.  He  joined  him, 
saying,  "  I  am  come  to  take  care  of  you ;  you  have  no  business  to  go 
to  work  without  me  to  look  after  you."  They  entered  the  breach 
together,  were  separated  in  the  m£tte,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Hodson 
was  shot  through  the  chest.  The  next  morning  the  wound  was  declared 
to  be  mortal,  and  he  sent  for  Napier  to  give  his  last  instructions. 

"  He  lay  on  his  bed  of  mortal  agony,"  says  this  friend,  "  and  met 
death  with  the  same  calm  composure  which  so  much  distinguished  him 
on  the  field  of  battle.  He  was  quite  conscious  and  peaceful,  occasion- 
ally uttering  a  sentence,  '  My  poor  wife/  '  My  poor  sisters/  '  I  should 
have  liked  to  have  seen  the  end  of  the  campaign  and  gone  home  to  the 
dear  ones  once  more,  but  it  was  so  ordered/  'It  is  hard  to  leave  the 
world  just  now,  when  success  is  so  near,  but  God's  will  be  done/ 
'  Bear  witness  for  me  that  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty  to  man.  May 
God  forgive  my  sins,  for  Christ's  sake/  'I  go  to  my  Father/  'My 
love  to  my  wife, — tell  her  my  last  thoughts  were  of  her/  'Lord  receive 
my  soul/  These  were  his  last  words,  and  without  a  sigh  or  struggle 
his  pure  and  noble  spirit  took  its  flight." 

"  It  was  so  ordered."  They  were  his  own  words ;  and  now  that  the 
first  anguish  of  his  loss  is  over,  will  not  even  those  nearest  and  dearest 
to  him  acknowledge  "  it  was  ordered  for  the  best?"  For  is  there  not 
something  painful  to  us  in  calculating  the  petty  rewards  which  we  can 
bestow  upon  a  man  who  has  done  any  work  of  deliverance  for  his 
country  ?  Do  we  not  almost  dread — eagerly  as  we  may  desire  his  re- 
turn— to  hear  the  vulgar,  formal  phrases  which  are  all  we  can  devise 
to  commemorate  the  toils  and  sufferings  that  we  think  of  with  most 
gratitude  and  affection  ?  There  is  somewhat  calming  and  soothing  in 
the  sadness  which  follows  a  brave  man  to  his  grave  in  the  very  place 
where  his  work  was  done,  just  when  it  was  done.  Alas  !  but  it  is  a 
bitter  lesson  to  learn,  even  to  us  his  old  schoolfellows,  who  have  never 
seen  him  since  we  parted  at  his  "  leaving  breakfast."  May  God  make 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  217 

us  all  braver  and  truer  workers  at  our  own  small  tasks,  and  worthy  to 
join  him,  the  hard  fighter,  the  glorious  Christian  soldier  and  English- 
man, when  our  time  shall  come. 

On  March  13th,  he  was  carried  to  a  soldier's  grave,  in  the  presence 
of  the  head-quarters,  staff,  and  of  Sir  Colin,  his  last  chief,  who  writes 
thus  to  his  widow : — 

"  I  followed  your  noble  husband  to  the  grave  myself,  in  order  to 
mark,  in  the  most  public  manner,  my  regret  and  esteem  for  the  most 
brilliant  soldier  under  my  command,  and  one  whom  I  was  proud  to 
call  my  friend." 

What  living  Englishman  can  add  one  iota  to  such  praise  from  such 
lips  ?  The  man  of  whom  the  greatest  of  English  soldiers  could  thus 
speak,  needs  no  mark  of  official  approbation,  though  it  is  a  burning 
•disgrace  to  the  authorities  that  none  such  has  been  given.  But  the 
family  which  mourns  its  noblest  son  may  be  content  with  the  rewards 
which  his  gallant  life  and  glorious  death  have  won  for  him  and  them, — 
we  believe  that  he  himself  would  desire  no  others.  For  his  broth  ers- 
in-arms  are  erecting  a  monument  to  him  in  Lichfield  Cathedral ;  his 
schoolfellows  are  putting  up  a  window  to  him,  and  the  other  Rugba3ans 
who  have  fallen  with  him,  in  Rugby  Chapel ;  and  the  three  regiments 
of  Hodson's  Horse  will  hand  down  his  name  on  the  scene  of  his  work 
and  of  his  death  as  long  as  Englishmen  bear  rule  in  India.  And  long 
after  that  rule  has  ceased,  while  England  can  honor  brave  deeds  and 
be  grateful  to  brave  men,  the  heroes  of  the  Indian  mutiny  will  never 
be  forgotten,  and  the  hearts  of  our  children's  children  will  leap  up  at 
the  names  of  Lawrence,  Havelock,  and  Hodson. 


WASHINGTON'S  PRESENCE. 

SPARKS. 

THE  person  of  Washington  was  commanding,  graceful,  and  fitly  pro- 
portioned ;  his  stature  six  feet,  his  chest  broad  and  full,  his  limbs  long 
and  somewhat  slender,  but  well  shaped  and  muscular.  His  features 
were  regular  and  symmetrical,  his  eyes  of  a  light  blue  color,  and  his 
whole  countenance,  in  its  quiet  state,  was  grave,  placid,  and  benig- 
nant. When  alone,  or  not  engaged  in  conversation,  he  appeared  sedate 
and  thoughtful ;  but,  when  his  attention  was  excited,  his  eye  kindled 
quickly  and  his  face  beamed  with  animation  and  intelligence.  He 
was  not  fluent  in  speech,  but  what  he  said  was  apposite,  and  listened 
to  with  the  more  interest  as  being  known  to  come  from  the  heart.  He 
seldom  attempted  sallies  of  wit  or  humor,  but  no  man  received  more 
pleasure  from  an  exhibition  of  them  by  others;  and,  although  con- 
tented in  seclusion,  he  sought  his  chief  happiness  in  society,  and  par- 
19 


218  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

ticipated  with  delight  in  all  its  rational  and  innocent  amusements. 
Without  austerity  on  the  one  hand,  or  an  appearance  of  condescending 
familiarity  on  the  other,  he  was  affable,  courteous,  and  cheerful ;  but 
it  has  often  been  remarked,  that  there  was  a  dignity  in  his  person  and 
manner,  not  easy  to  be  denned,  which  impressed  every  one  that  saw 
him  for  the  first  time  with  an  instinctive  deference  and  awe.  This 
may  have  arisen  in  part  from  a  conviction  of  his  superiority,  as  well 
as  from  the  effect  produced  by  his  external  form  and  deportment. 

From  "  Life  of  Washington." 


SPARKS. 

His  moral  qualities  were  in  perfect  harmony  with  thos.e  of  his  intel- 
lect. Duty  was  the  ruling  principle  of  his  conduct;  and  the  rare 
endowments  of  his  understanding  were  not  more  constantly  tasked  to 
devise  the  best  methods  of  effecting  an  object,  than  they  were  to  guard 
the  sanctity  of  conscience.  No  instance  can  be  adduced,  in  which  he 
was  actuated  by  a  sinister  motive,  or  endeavored  to  attain  an  end  by 
unworthy  means.  Truth,  integrity,  and  justice  were  deeply  rooted  in 
his  mind ;  and  nothing  could  rouse  his  indignation  so  soon,  or  so  ut- 
terly destroy  his  confidence,  as  the.  discovery  of  the  want  of  these 
virtues  in  any  one  whom  he  had  trusted.  Weaknesses,  follies,  indis- 
cretions, he  could  forgive ;  but  subterfuge  and  dishonesty  he  never 
forgot,  rarely  pardoned.  He  was  candid  and  sincere,  true  to  his 
friends,  and  faithful  to  all,  neither  practising  dissimulation,  descend- 
ing to  artifice,  nor  holding  out  expectations  which  he  did  not  intend 
should  be  realized.  His  passions  were  strong,  and  sometimes  they 
broke  out  with  vehemence,  but  he  had  the  power  of  checking  them  in 
an  instant.  Perhaps  self-control  was  the  most  remarkable  trait  of  his 
character.  It  was  in  part  the  effect  of  discipline ;  yet  he  seems  by 
nature  to  have  possessed  this  power  to  a  degree  which  has  been  denied 
to  other  men. 

A  Christian  in  faith  and  practice,  he  was  habitually  devout.  His 
reverence  for  religion  is  seen  in  his  example,  his  public  communica- 
tions, and  his  private  writings.  He  uniformly  ascribed  his  successes 
to  the  beneficent  agency  of  the  Supreme  Being.  Charitable  and  hu- 
mane, he  was  liberal  to  the  poor,  and  kind  to  those  in  distress.  As  a 
husband,  son,  and  brother,  he  was  tender  and  affectionate.  Without 
vanity,  ostentation,  or  pride,  he  never  spoke  of  himself  or  his  actions, 
unless  required  by  circumstances  which  concerned  the  public  interests. 
As  he  was  free  from  envy,  so  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  escape  the 
envy  of  others,  by  standing  on  an  elevation  which  none  could  hope  to 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  219 

attain.  If  he  had  one  passion  more  strong  than  another,  it  was  love 
of  his  country.  The  purity  and  ardor  of  his  patriotism  were  commen- 
surate with  the  greatness  of  its  object.  Love  of  country  in  him  was 
invested  with  the  sacred  obligation  of  a  duty ;  and  from  the  faithful 
discharge  of  this  duty  he  never  swerved  for  a  moment,  either  in 
thought  or  deed,  through  the  whole  period  of  his  eventful  career. 

From  "Life  of  Washir 


THE   FATE   OF   ANDEE. 

C.  J.  BlDDLE. 

FEW  men  have  possessed  in  a  higher  degree  the  power  of  captivating 
the  feelings  of  those  around  them.  Young,  with  no  family  influence, 
and  but  lately  entered  from  commercial  business  into  military  life,  he 
had  so  ingratiated  himself  with  his  commander,  that  Clinton  actually 
extorted  from  the  British  ministry  the  promotion  which  he  desired  for 
his  favorite.  The  sense  of  obligation  was  deeply  felt  and  warmly 
expressed  by  Andre";  and  it  no  doubt  stimulated  his  efforts  to  secure, 
at  every  personal  hazard,  the  triumph  that  would  have  established  the 
fortunes  of  his  friend.  Of  Swiss  parentage,  and  educated  upon  the 
continent  of  Europe,  Andr6  possessed  all  the  lighter  accomplishments 
which,  with  his  natural  vivacity  and  graceful  bearing,  rendered  him 
the  delight  of  every  society  in  which  he  moved.  The  protraction  of 
individual  lives  so  connects  the  past  generation  with  the  present,  that 
I  have,  myself,  heard  one  who  knew  him  descant  upon  the  charms  of 
his  conversation  and  the  elegance  of  his  manners,  as  exhibited  in  the 
social  circles  of  this  city. 

I  conceive  him  to  have  been  in  temperament  sanguine  and  mercurial 
— easily  elated,  easily  depressed — and,  though  emulous  of  distinction, 
governed  rather  by  impulse  than  reflection;  with  some  proneness — 
from  circumstances  and  education  rather  than  from  nature — to  arts  of 
insinuation  and  intrigue,  which  brought  him,  through  their  slippery 
pathways,  to  a  bitter  expiation.  In  his  brief  captivity,  he  turned 
enemies  into  friends.  The  narrative  of  Hamilton  perpetuates,  in  all 
their  original  freshness,  the  feelings  of  the  hour,  as  they  overflowed  in 
the  generous  bosoms  of  the  young  American  soldiers,  whose  ministra- 
tions of  respect  and  love  lightened  to  the  ill-fated  Andr6  the  shame  of 
an  ignominious  death.  In  the  last  disastrous  days  of  his  career,  his 
mind  was  elevated  by  misfortune  ;  and  his  final  hour  displayed — what 
seldom  graces  a  public  exit  from  the  scene  of  life — an  unaffected 
courage,  alike  removed  from  weakness  or  bravado. 

Yet  time  will  but  confirm  the  judgment  that  the  men  of  the  Revolu- 
tion passed  upon  Andre1.  They  condemned  him,  yet  they  pitied  him — 


220  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

so  we  may  do — without  yielding  to  the  morbid  sensibility  that  can  find 
a  saint  and  martyr  in  "  the  amiable  spy,"  and  would  sacrifice  the  fame 
of  great  and  just  men  to  his  memory. 

"The  warmest  panegyrists  of  Washington,"  says  Lord  Mahon, 
"sometimes  imply  that  his  character  was  wholly  faultless ;"  they  err 
then, — for  to  be  faultless  is  to  be  more  than  human :  yet  in  no  other 
of  the  world's  heroes  is  it  so  difficult  to  trace  the  common  infirmities 
of  nature.  That,  in  the  transaction  here  discussed,  the  "  faulty  point" 
of  his  character  has  been  laid  bare,  through  the  acumen  of  the  English 
historian,  few  will  agree  with  him  in  thinking.  For  never  was  more 
manifest,  than  in  the  disposal  of  the  case  of  Andre,  the  constant,  calm, 
and  high  devotion  to  duty,  that  made  the  life  of  Washington  an  example 
of  as  near  approach  to  complete  moral  greatness  as  has  yet  exalted  the 
dignity  of  man. 

From  "  Contributions  to  American  History." 


WEST  POINT. 

LOSSING. 

IN  the  midst  of  wild  mountain  scenery,  picturesque  but  not  magni- 
ficent when  compared  with  the  White  Mountains  of  New  Hampshire, 
the  Adirondack  and  Catskill  range  in  New  York,  or  the  Alleghanies  in 
Western  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia,  is  a  bold  promontory  called  West 
Point,  rising  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  waters  of 
the  Hudson,  its  top  a  perfectly  level  and  fertile  plateau,  and  every  rood 
hallowed  by  associations  of  the  deepest  interest.  West  Point !  What 
a  world  of  thrilling  reminiscences  has  the  utterance  of  that  name  brought 
to  ten  thousand  memories  in  times  past,  now,  alas !  nearly  all  slum- 
bering in  the  dreamless  sleep  of  the  dead !  How  does  it  awaken  the 
generous  emotions  of  patriotic  reverence  for  the  men,  and  things,  and 
times  of  the  Revolution,  in  the  bosoms  of  the  present  generation  1  Nor 
is  it  by  the  associations  alone  that  the  traveller  is.  moved  with  strong 
emotions  when  approaching  West  Point ;  the  stranger,  indifferent  to 
our  history  and  of  all  but  the  present,  feels  a  glow  of  admiration  as 
he  courses  along  the  sinuous  channel  of  the  river  or  climbs  the  rough 
hills  that  embosom  it.  The  inspiration  of  nature  then  takes  possession 
of  his  heart  and  mind,  and 

"  When  he  treads 

The  rock-encumbered  crest,  and  feels  the  strange 
And  wild  tumultuous  throbbings  of  his_  heart, 
Its  every  chord  vibrating  with  the  touch 
Of  the  high  power  that  reigns  supreme  o'er  all, 
He  well  may  deem  that  lips  of  angel-forms 
Have  breathed  to  him  the  holy  melody 
That  fills  his  o'erfraught  heart." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  221 

The  high  plain  is  reached  by  a  carriage-way  that  winds  up  the  bank 
from  the  landing ;  the  visitor  overlooking,  in  the  passage,  on  the  right, 
the  little  village  of  Camptown,  which  comprises  the  barracks  of  United 
States  soldiers  and  a  few  dwellings  of  persons  not  immediately  connected 
with  the  military  works.  On  the  left,  near  the  summit,  is  "  the  Artillery 
Laboratory/'  and  near  by,  upon  a  little  hillock,  is  an  obelisk  erected 
to  the  memory  of  Lieutenant-colonel  Wood.  On  the  edge  of  the  cliff, 
overlooking  the  steamboat  landing,  is  a  spacious  hotel,  where  I  booked 
myself  as  a  boarder  for  a  day  or  two.  A  more  delightful  spot,  particularly 
in  summer,  for  a  weary  traveller  or  a  professed  lounger,  cannot  easily  be 
found,  than  the  broad  piazza  of  that  public  dwelling  presents.  Breezy 
in  the  hottest  weather,  and  always  enlivened  by  pleasant  company,  the 
sojourner  need  not  step  from  beneath  its  shadow  to  view  a  most 
wonderful  variety  of  pleasing  objects  in  nature  and  art.  Upon  the 
grassy  plain  before  him  are  buildings  of  the  military  establishment — 
the  Academic  Halls,  the  Philosophical  and  Library  buildings,  the 
Observatory,  the  Chapel,  the  Hospital,  the  Barracks  and  Mess  Hall  of 
the  cadets,  and  the  beautifully  shaded  dwellings  of  the  officers  and 
professors  that  skirt  the  western  side  of  the  plateau  at  the  base  of  the 
hills.  On  the  parade,  the  cadets,  in  neat  uniform,,  exhibit  their  various 
exercises,  and  an  excellent  band  of  music  delights  the  ear.  Lifting  the 
eyes  to  the  westward,  the.  lofty  summit  of  Mount  Independence,  crested 
by  the  gray  ruins  of  Fort  Putnam,  and  beyond  it  the  loftier  apex  of 
Redoubt  Hill,  are  seen.  Turning  a  little  northward,  Old  Cro'  Nest  and 
Butter  Hill  break  the  horizon  nearly  half  way  to  the  zenith ;  and 
directly  north,  over  Martelaer's  Rock  or  Constitution  Island,  through 
the  magnificent  cleft  in  the  chain  of  hills  through  which  the  Hudson 
flows,  is  seen  the  bright  waters  of  Newburgh  Bay,  the  village  glittering 
in  the  sunbeams,  and  the  beautiful  cultivated  slopes  of  Dutchess  and 
Orange.  The  scenery  at  the  eastward  is  better  comprehended  and 
more  extensive  as  seen  from  Fort  Putnam,  whither  we  shall  presently 

olimb. 

From  "  Pictorial-Field  Book  of  the  Revolution." 


THE   IMPOSSIBLE. 

ROBERT  DALE  OWEN. 

RETURNED  as  it  were  from  the  dead,  survivor  of  a  voyage  overhung 
with  preternatural  horrors,  his  great  problem,  as  in  despite  of  man 
and  nature,  triumphantly  resolved,  Columbus,  the  visionary,  was  wel- 
comed as  the  conqueror ;  the  needy  adventurer  was  recognised  as 
Admiral  of  the  Western  Ocean  and  Viceroy  of  a  New  Continent ;  was 
received,  in  solemn  state,  by  the  haughtiest  sovereigns  in  the  world, 
rising  at  his  approach,  and  invited  (Castilian  punctilio  overcome  by 


222  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

intellectual  power)  to  be  seated  before  them.  He  told  his  wondrous 
story,  and  exhibited,  as  vouchers  for  its  truth,  the  tawny  savages  and 
the  barbaric  gold.  King,  queen,  and  court  sunk  on  their  knees ;  and 
the  Te  Deum  sounded,  as  for  some  glorious  victory. 

That  night,  in  the  silence  of  his  chamber,  what  thoughts  may  have 
thronged  on  Columbus' s  mind !  What  exultant  emotions  must  have 
swelled  his  heart !  A  past  world  had  deemed  the  Eastern  Hemisphere 
the  entire  habitable  earth.  Age  had  succeeded  to  age,  century  had 
passed  away  after  century,  and  still  the  interdict  had  been  acquiesced 
in,  that  westward  beyond  the  mountain  pillars  it  belonged  not  to  man 
to  explore.  And  yet  he,  the  chosen  of  God  to  solve  the  greatest  of 
terrestrial  mysteries,  affronting  what  even  the  hardy  mariners  of  Palos 
had  regarded  as  certain  destruction, — he,  the  hopeful  one  where  all 
but  himself  despaired, — had  wrested  from  the  Deep  its  mighty  secret, 
— had  accomplished  what  the  united  voice  of  the  Past  had  declared  to 
be  an  impossible  achievement. 

But  now,  if,  in  the  stillness  of  that  night,  to  this  man,  enthusiast, 
dreamer,  believer  as  he  was,  there  had  suddenly  appeared  'some  Nos- 
tradamus of  the  fifteenth  century,  of  prophetic  mind  instinct  with  the 
future,  and  had  declared  to  the  ocean-compeller  that  not  four  centuries 
would  elapse  before  that  vast  intervening  gulf  of  waters — from  the 
farther  shore  of  which,  through  months  of  tempest,  he  had  just  groped 
back  his  weary  way — should  interpose  no  obstacle  to  the  free  commu- 
nication of  human  thought ;  that  a  man  standing  on  the  western  shore 
of  Europe  should,  within  three  hundred  and  seventy  years  from  that 
day,  engage  in  conversation  with  his  fellow  standing  on  the  eastern 
shore  of  the  new-found  world  ;  nay, — marvel  of  all  marvels  ! — that  the 
same  fearful  bolt  which,  during  his  terrible  voyage,  had  so  often  lighted 
up  the  waste  of  waters  around  him,  should  itself  become  the  agent  of 
communication  across  that  storm-tossed  ocean  ;  that  mortal  creatures, 
unaided  by  angel  or  demon,  without  intervention  of  heaven  or  pact 
with  hell,  should  bring  that  lightning  under  domestic  subjection,  and 
employ  it,  as  they  might  some  menial  or  some  carrier-dove,  to  bear 
their  daily  messages ; — to  a  prediction  so  wildly  extravagant,  so  sur- 
passingly absurd,  as  that,  what  credence  could  even  Columbus  lend? 
What  answer  to  such  a  prophetic  vision  may  we  imagine  that  he,  with 
all  a  life's  experience  of  a  man's  short-sightedness,  would  have  given  ? 
Probably  some  reply  like  this :  that,  though  in  the  future  many  strange 
things  might  be,  such  a  tampering  with  Nature  as  that — short  of  a 
direct  miracle  from  God — was  IMPOSSIBLE  ! 

From  "Footfalls  on  the  Boundary  of  Another  World." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  223 

HAVELOCK'S  HIGHLANDERS. 

W.  BROCK. 

THE  Highlanders  had  never  fought  in  that  quarter  of  India  before, 
and  their  character  was  unknown  to  the  foe.  Their  advance  has  been 
described  by  spectators  as  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the  power  of 
discipline.  With  sloped  arms  and  rapid  tread,  through  the  broken 
and  heavy  lands,  and  through  the  well-directed  fire  of  artilllery  and 
musketry,  linked  in  their  unfaltering  lines  they  followed  their  mounted 
leaders,  the  mark  for  many  rifles.  They  did  not  pause  to  fire — did  not 
even  cheer ;  no  sound  from  them  was  heard  as  that  living  wall  came  on 
and  on,  to  conquer  or  to  die.  Now  they  are  near  the  village  ;  but  their 
enemies  occupy  every  house,  and  from  every  point  a  galling  fire  is 
poured  on  them  from  the  heavy  guns.  The  men  lie  down  till  the  iron 
storm  passses  over.  It  was  but  for  a  moment.  The  General  gave  the 
word,  ••  Rise  up  !  Advance  I"  and  wild  cheers  rung  out  from  those  brave 
lines — wilder  even  than  their  fatal  fire  within  a  hundred  yards ;  and  the 
pipes  sounded  the  martial  pibroch,  heard  so  often  as  earth's  latest  music 
by  dying  men.  The  men  sprung  up  the  hill  covered  by  the  smoke  of 
their  crushing  volley,  almost  with  the  speed  of  their  o^n  bullets ;  over, 
and  through  all  obstacles,  the  gleaming  bayonets  advanced ;  and  then 
followed  those  moments  of  personal  struggle,  not  often  protracted,  when 
the  Mahratta  learned,  too  late  for  life,  the  power  of  the  Northern  arm. 
The  position  was  theirs.  All  that  stood  between  them  and  the  guns  fled 
the  field  or  was  cut  down.  General  Havelock  was  with  his  men.  Excited 
by  the  scene,  some  letter-writers  say  that  he  exclaimed,  "  Well  done, 
78th.  You  shall  be  my  own  regiment.  Another  charge  like  that 

will  win  the  day." 

From  "Life  of  Havelock." 


THE   NEWS   FROM   LEXINGTON. 

GEORGE  BANCROFT. 

DARKNESS  closed  upon  the  country  and  upon  the  town,  but  it  was  no 
night  for  sleep.  Heralds  on  swift  relays  of  horses  transmitted  the 
war-message  from  hand  to  hand,  till  village  repeated  it  to  village ;  the 
sea  to  the  backwoods  ;  the  plains  to  the  highlands ;  and  it  was  never 
suffered  to  droop,  till  it  had  been  borne  north,  and  south,  and  east,  and 
west,  throughout  the  land.  It  spread  over  the  bays  that  receive  the 
Saco  and  the  Penobscot.  Its  loud  reveille  broke  the  rest  of  the  trap- 
pers of  New  Hampshire,  and  ringing  like  bugle-notes  from  peak  to 
peak,  overleapt  the  Green  Mountains,  swept  onward  to  Montreal,  and 
descended  the  ocean  river,  till  the  responses  were  echoed  from  the  cliffs 
of  Quebec.  The  hills  along  the  Hudson  told  to  one  another  the  tale. 
As  the  summons  hurried  to  the  south,  it  was  one  day  at  New  York ; 


224          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

in  one  more  at  Philadelphia ;  the  next  it  lighted  a  watchfire  at  Balti- 
more ;  thence  it  waked  an  answer  at  Annapolis.  Crossing  the  Poto- 
mac near  Mount  Vernon,  it  was  sent  forward  without  a  halt  to  Wil- 
liamsburg.  It  traversed  the  Dismal  Swamp  to  Nansemond,  along  the 
route  of  the  first  emigrants  to  North  Carolina.  It  moved  onwards  and 
still  onwards,  through  boundless  groves  of  evergreen,  to  Newbern  and 
to  Wilmington.  "  For  God's  sake,  forward  it  by  night  and  by  day," 
wrote  Cornelius  Harnett  by  the  express  which  sped  for  Brunswick. 
Patriots  of  South  Carolina  caught  up  its  tones  at  the  border,  and 
despatched  it  to  Charleston,  and  through  pines  and  palmettoes  and 
moss-clad  live-oaks,  still  further  to  the  south,  till  it  resounded  among 
the  New  England  settlements  beyond  the  Savannah.  Hillsborough 
and  the  Mecklenburg  district  of  North  Carolina  rose  in  triumph,  now 
that  their  wearisome  uncertainty  had  its  end.  The  Blue  Ridge  took 
up  the  voice  and  made  it  heard  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  valley 
of  Virginia.  The  Alleghanies,  as  they  listened,  opened  their  barriers 
that  the  "  loud  call"  might  pass  through  to  the  hardy  riflemen  on  the 
Holston,  the  Watauga,  and  the  French  Broad.  Ever  renewing  its 
strength,  powerful  enough  even  to  create  a  commonwealth,  it  breathed 
its  inspiring  word  to  the  first  settlers  of  Kentucky ;  so  that  hunters 
who  made  their  halt  in  the  matchless  valley  of  the  Elkhorn,  commem- 
orated the  nineteenth  day  of  April  by  naming  their  encampment 
"  LEXINGTON." 

From  "  History  of  the  United  Statet.n 


ALLEN'S  CAPTUKE  OF  TICONDEROGA. 

GEORGE  BANCROFT 

THE  men  were  at  once  drawn  up  in  three  ranks,  and  as  the  first 
beams  of  morning  broke  upon  the  mountain  peaks,  Allen  addressed 
them:  "Friends  and  fellow-soldiers:  We  must  this  morning  quit  our 
pretensions  to  valor,  or  possess  ourselves  of  this  fortress  ;  and  inasmuch 
as  it  is  a  desperate  attempt,  I  do  not  urge  it  on,  contrary  to  will.  You 
that  will  undertake  voluntarily,  poise  your  firelock." 

At  the  word  every  firelock  was  poised.  "  Face  to  the  right,"  cried 
Allen  ;  and  placing  himself  at  the  head  of  the  centre  file,  Arnold  keep- 
ing emulously  at  his  side,  he  marched  to  the  gate.  It  was  shut,  but  the 
wicket  was  open.  The  sentry  snapped  a  fuzee  at  him.  The  Ameri- 
cans rushed  into  the  fort,  darted  upon  the  guards,  and  raising  the 
Indian  war  whoop,  such  as  had  not  been  heard  there  since  the  days  of 
Montcalm,  formed  on  the  parade  in  hollow  square,  to  face  each  of  the 
barracks.  One  of  the  sentries,  after  wounding  an  officer,  and  being 
slightly  wounded  himself,  cried  out  for  quarter,  and  showed  the  way  to 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  225 

the  apartment  of  the  commanding  officer.  "  Come  forth  instantly,  01 
I  will  sacrifice  the  whole  garrison,"  cried  Ethan  Allen,  as  he  reached 
the  door.  At  this,  Delaplace,  the  commander,  came  out  undressed, 
with  his  breeches  in  his  hand.  "  Deliver  to  me  the  fort  instantly," 
said  Allen.  "  By  what  authority  ?"  asked  Delaplace.  "  In  the  name 
of  the  great  Jehovah,  and  the  Continental  Congress !"  answered  Allen 
Delaplace  began  to  speak  again,  but  was  peremptorily  interrupted,  an<J 
at  sight  of  Allen's  drawn  sword  near  his  head,  he  gave  up  the  garrison, 
ordering  his  men  to  be  paraded  without  arms. 

Thus  was  Ticonderoga  taken  in  the  gray  of  the  morning  of  the  tenth 
of  May.  What  cost  the  British  nation  eight  millions  sterling,  a  suc- 
cession of  campaigns  and  many  lives,  was  won  in  ten  minutes  by  a 
few  undisciplined  men,  without  the  loss  of  life  or  limb. 

From  " History  of  the,  United  States" 


THE   DOWNFALL   OF   NAPOLEON. 

THOMAS  ARNOLD,  D.  D. 

IN  1792  there  broke  out  by  far  the  most  alarming  danger  of  univer- 
sal dominion,  which  had  ever  threatened  Europe.  The  most  military 
people  in  Europe  became  engaged  in  a  war  for  their  very  existence. 
Invasion  on  the  frontiers,  civil  war  and  all  imaginable  horrors  raging 
within,  the  ordinary  relations  of  life  went  to  wrack,  and  every  French- 
man became  a  soldier.  It  was  a  multitude  numerous  as  the  host  of 
Persia,  but  animated  by  the  courage  and  skill  and  energy  of  the  old 
Romans.  One  thing  alone  was  wanting,  that  which  Pyrrhus  said  the 
Romans  wanted,  to  enable  them  to  conquer  the  world,  a  general  and  a 
ruler  like  himself.  There  was  wanted  a  master  hand  to  restore  and 
maintain  peace  at  home,  and  to  concentrate  and  direct  the  immense 
military  resources  of  France  against  her  foreign  enemies.  And  such 
a  one  appeared  in  Napoleon.  Pacifying  La  Vendee,  receiving  back 
the  emigrants,  restoring  the  church,  remodelling  the  law,  personally 
absolute,  yet  carefully  preserving  and  maintaining  all  the  great  points 
which  the  nation  had  won  at  the  revolution,  Napoleon  united  in  him- 
self not  only  the  power  but  the  whole  will  of  France,  and  that  power 
and  will  were  guided  by  a  genius  for  war  such  as  Europe  had  never 
seen  since  Caesar.  The  effect  was  absolutely  magical.  In  November, 
1799,  he  was  made  First  Consul;  he  found  France  humbled  by  defeats, 
his  Italian  conquests  lost,  his  allies  invaded,  his  own  frontier  threat- 
ened. He  took  the  field  in  May,  1800,  and  in  June  the  whole  fortune 
of  the  war  was  changed,  and  Austria  driven  out  of  Lombardy  by  the 
victory  of  Marengo.  Still  the  flood  of  the  tide  rose  higher  and  higher, 
and  every  successive  wave  of  its  advance  swept  away  a  kingdom. 

P 


226          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER, 

Earthly  state  has  never  reached  a  prouder  pinnacle,  than  when  Napo- 
leon in  June,  1812,  gathered  his  army  at  Dresden,  that  mighty  host, 
unequalled  in  all  time,  of  450,000,  not  men  merely,  but  effective  sol- 
diers, and  there  received  the  homage  of  subject  kings.  And  now  what 
was  the  principal  adversary  of  this  tremendous  power?  by  whom  was 
it  checked,  and  resisted,  and  put  down  ?  By  none,  and  by  nothing, 
but  the  direct  and  manifest  interposition  of  God.  I  know  of  no  lan- 
guage so  well  fitted  to  describe  that  victorious  advance  to  Moscow,  and 
the  utter  humiliation  of  the  retreat,  as  the  language  of  the  prophet 
with  respect  to  the  advance  and  subsequent  destruction  of  the  host  of 
Sennacherib.  "  When  they  arose  early  in  the  morning,  behold  they 
were  all  dead  corpses,"  applies  almost  literally  to  that  memorable 
night  of  frost  in  which  twenty  thousand  horses  perished,  and  the 
strength  of  the  French  army  was  utterly  broken.  Human  instruments 
no  doubt  were  employed  in  the  remainder  of  the  work,  nor  would  I 
deny  to  Germany  and  to  Prussia  the  glories  of  that  great  year  1813, 
nor  to  England  the  honor  of  her  victories  in  Spain,  or  of  the  crowning 
victory  of  Waterloo.  But  at  the  distance  of  thirty  years,  those  who 
lived  in  the  time  of  danger,  and  remember  its  magnitude,  and  now 
calmly  review  what  there  was  in  human  strength  to  avert  it,  must 
acknowledge,  I  think,  beyond  all  controversy,  that  the  deliverance  of 
Europe  from  the  dominion  of  Napoleon  was  effected  neither  by  Russia, 
nor  by  Germany,  nor  by  England,  but  by  the  hand  of  God  alone.  • 

From  "  Lectures  on  Modern  History." 


ISABELLA  OF   SPAIN  AND    ELIZABETH    OF   ENGLAND. 

PRESCOTT. 

THE  feature  of  bigotry,  which  has  thrown  a  shade  over  Isabella's 
otherwise  beautiful  character,  might  lead  to  a  disparagement  of  her 
intellectual  power  compared  with  that  of  the  English  queen.  To  esti- 
mate this  aright,  we  must  contemplate  the  results  of  their  respective 
reigns.  Elizabeth  found  all  the  materials  of  prosperity  at  hand,  and 
availed  herself  of  them  most  ably  to  build  up  a  solid  fabric  of  national 
grandeur.  Isabella  created  these  materials.  She  saw  the  faculties  of 
her  people  locked  up  in  a  death-like  lethargy,  and  she  breathed  into 
them  the  breath  of  life  for  those  great  and  heroic  enterprises  which  ter- 
minated in  such  glorious  consequences  to  the  monarchy.  It  is  when 
viewed  from  the  depressed  position  of  her  early  days,  that  the  achieve- 
ments of  her  reign  seem  scarcely  less  than  miraculous.  The  masculine 
genius  of  the  English  queen  stands  out  relieved  beyond  its  natural 
dimensions  by  its  separation  from  the  softer  qualities  of  her  sex. 
While  her  rival's,  like  some  vast,  but  symmetrical  edifice,  loses  in 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  227 

appearance  somewhat  of  its  actual  grandeur  from  the  perfect  harmony 
of  its  proportions. 

The  circumstances  of  their  deaths,  which  were  somewhat  similar, 
displayed  the  great  dissimilarity  of  their  characters.  Both  pined 
amidst  their  royal  state,  a  prey  to  incurable  despondency  rather  than 
any  marked  bodily  distemper.  In  Elizabeth  it  sprung  from  wounded 
vanity,  a  sullen  conviction  that  she  had  outlived  the  admiration  on 
which  she  had  so  long  fed, — and  even  the  solace  of  friendship  and  the 
attachment  of  her  subjects.  Nor  did  she  seek  consolation,  where  alone 
it  was  to  be  found,  in  that  sad  hour.  Isabella,  on  the  other  hand,  sunk 
under  a  too  acute  sensibility  to  the  sufferings  of  others.  But,  amidst 
the  gloom  which  gathered  around  her,  she  looked  with  the  eye  of  faith 
to  the  brighter  prospects  which  unfolded  of  the  future ;  and  when  she 
resigned  her  last  breath,  it  was  amidst  the  tears  and  universal  lamen- 
tations of  her  people. 

From  "  Ferdinand  and  Isabella." 


VENICE. 

G.  S.  HlLLARD. 

IN  external  Venice  there  are  but  three  things  to  be  seen  ;  the  sea, 
the  sky,  and  architecture.  There  are  no  gardens,  no  wide  spaces  over 
which  the  eye  may  range ;  no  landscapes,  properly  so  called.  There 
are  no  slopes,  no  gradations,  no  blending  of  curved  lines.  What  is  not 
horizontal  is  perpendicular :  where  the  plane  of  the  sea  ends,  the 
plumb-line  of  the  fa9ade  begins.  It  is  only  by  climbing  some  tower  or 
spire,  and  looking  down,  that  we  can  see  things  massed  and  grouped 
together.  The  streets  are  such  passages  as  would  naturally  be  found 
in  a  city  where  there  were  no  vehicles,  and  where  every  foot  of  earth  is 
precious.  They  are  like  lateral  shafts  cut  through  a  quarry  of  stone. 
In  walking  through  them,  the  houses  on  either  hand  can  be  touched. 
The  mode  of  life  on  the  first  floor  is  easily  visible,  and  many  agreeable 
domestic  pictures  may  be  observed  by  a  not  too  fastidious  eye.  These 
streets,  intersected  by  the  smaller  canals,  are  joined  together  by  bridges 
of  stone,  and  frequently  expand  into  small  courts,  in  the  middle  of 
which  is  generally  found  a  well,  with  a  parapet,  or  covering,  of  stone, 
often  curiously  carved.  Here,  at  certain  seasons  of  the  day,  the  people 
of  the  neighborhood  collect  together  to  draw  water,  gossip,  and  make 
love ;  and  here  the  manners  and  life  which  are  peculiar  to  Venice  may 
be  studied  to  advantage.  Goethe  complains  of  the  dirt  which  he  found 
in  the  streets.  Time  and  the  Austrians  have  remedied  that  defect,  and 
they  are  now  quite  clean.  But  nowhere  else  have  I  heard  the  human 
voice  so  loud.  Whether  this  arises  from  the  absence  of  all  other  sounds, 
or  whether  these  high  and  narrow  streets  multiply  and  reverberate 


228          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

every  tone,  I  cannot  say,  but  everybody  seems  to  be  putting  forth  the 
utmost  capacity  of  his  lungs.  I  recall  a  sturdy  seller  of  vegetables  in 
Shylock's  Rialto — which  is  not  the  bridge  so  called,  but  a  square  near 
it — whose  voice  was  like  the  voice  of  three,  and  who  seemed  to  take  as 
much  pleasure  in  his  explosive  cries,  as  a  boy  in  beating  his  first  drum. 

From  "  Six  Months  in  Italy." 


SPRING. 

HAWTHORNE. 

THANK  Providence  for  Spring!  The  earth — and  man  himself,  by 
sympathy  with  his  birth-place — would  be  far  other  than  we  find  them, 
if  life  toiled  wearily  onward,  without  this  periodical  infusion  of  the 
primal  spirit.  Will  the  world  ever  be  so  decayed,  that  spring  may  not 
renew  its  greenness?  Can  man  be  so  dismally  age-stricken,  that  no 
faintest  sunshine  of  his  youth  may  revisit  him  once  a  year  ?  It  is  im- 
possible. The  moss  on  our  time-worn  mansion  brightens  into  beauty  ; 
the  good  old  pastor,  who  once  dweft  here,  renewed  his  prime,  regained 
his  boyhood,  in  the  genial  breezes  of  his  ninetieth  spring.  Alas  for 
the  worn  and  heavy  soul,  if,  whether  in  youth  or  age,  it  have  outlived 
its  privilege  of  spring-time  sprightliness !  From  such  a  soul  the  world 
must  hope  no  reformation  of  its  evil — no  sympathy  with  the  lofty  faith 
and  gallant  struggles  of  those  who  contend  in  its  behalf.  Summer 
works  in  the  present,  and  thinks  not  of  the  future ;  Autumn  is  a  rich 
conservative ;  Winter  has  utterly  lost  its  faith,  and  clings  tremulously 
to  the  remembrance  of  what  has  been  ;  but  Spring,  with  its  outgushing 
life,  is  the  true  type  of  the  Movement ! 

From  "  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse." 


SCANDINAVIAN  AMAZONS. 

H.  WHEATON. 

SCANDINAVIAN  women  of  illustrious  birth  sometimes  became  pirates 
and  roved  the  seas.  More  frequently,  however,  they  shared  the  toils 
and  dangers  of  land-battles.  These  Amazons  were  called  Skjold- 
meyar,  or  virgins  of  the  shield.  The  romantic  Sagas  are  filled  with 
the  most  striking  traits  of  their  heroic  bearing.  In  the  Volsungasaga 
we  have  the  romantic  tale  of  Alfhilda,  daughter  of  Sigurdr,  king  of 
the  Ostrogoths,  who  was  chaste,  brave,  and  fair.  She  was  always 
veiled  from  the  gaze  of  vulgar  curiosity,  and  lived  in  a  secluded  bower, 
where  she  was  guarded  by  two  champions  of  prodigious  strength  and 
valor.  Sigurdr  had  proclaimed  that  whoever  aspired  to  his  daughter's 
hand,  must  vanquish  the  two  gigantic  champions, — his  own  life  to  be 
the  forfeit  if  he  failed  in  the  perilous  enterprise.  Alf,  a  young  sea- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  229 

king,  who  had  already  signalized  himself  by  his  heroic  exploits,  en- 
countered and  slew  the  two  champions ;  but  Alf  hilda  herself  was  not 
disposed  to  surrender  tamely.  She  boldly  put  to  sea  with  her  female 
companions,  all  clothed,  like  herself,  in  male  attire,  and  completely 
armed  for  war.  They  fell  in  with  a  fleet  of  Vikingar,  who,  having  just 
lost  their  chieftain,  elected  the  intrepid  heroine  for  his  successor.  She 
continued  thus  to  rove  the  Baltic  Sea,  at  the  head  of  this  band  of 
pirates,  until  the  wide-spread  fame  of  her  exploits  came  to  the  ear  of 
Alf,  her  suitor,  who  gave  chase  to  her  squadron,  and  pursued  it  into 
the  Gulf  of  Finland.  The  brave  Alf  hilda  gave  battle.  Alf  boarded 
the  bark  of  the  princess,  who  made  a  gallant  and  obstinate  resistance, 
until  her  helmet  being  cloven  open  by  one  of  his  champions,  disclosed 
to  their  astonished  view  the  fair  face  and  lovely  locks  of  his  coy  mis- 
tress, who,  being  thus  vanquished  by  her  magnanimous  lover,  no 
longer  refuses  him  the  hand  he  had  sought,  whilst  his  gallant  cham- 
pion espouses  one  of  her  fair  companions. 

From  "  History  of  the  Northmen.'" 


G.  S.  HlLLARD. 

AT  an  early  hour  on  that  day  I  found  the  church  already  occupied  by 
a  great  crowd.  A  double  row  of  soldiers  stretched  from  the  entrance 
to  the  altar,  around  which  the  Pope's  guards,  in  their  fantastic  uniform, 
looking  like  the  knaves  in  a  pack  of  cards,  were  stationed ;  while  a 
series  of  seats  on  either  side  were  filled  by  ladies  dressed  in  black  and 
wearing  veils.  The  foreign  ambassadors  were  in  a  place  appropriated 
to  them  in  the  tribune.  Among  the  spectators  were  several  in  military 
uniforms.  A  handsome  young  Englishman,  in  a  rich  hussar  dress,  of 
scarlet  and  gold,  attracted  much  attention.  In  a  recess,  above  one  of 
the  great  piers  of  the  dome,  a  choir  of  male  singers  was  stationed, 
whose  voices,  without  any  instrumental  accompaniment,  blended  into 
complete  harmony,  and  gave  the  most  perfect  expression  to  that  difficult 
and  complicated  music  which  the  church  of  Rome  has  consecrated  to 
the  use  of  its  high  festivals.  We  waited  some  time  for  the  advent  of 
the  Pope,  but,  with  such  objects  around  us,  were  content  to  wait.  The 
whole  spectacle  was  one  of  animated  interest  and  peculiar  beauty. 
The  very  defects  of  the  church — its  gay,  secular,  and  somewhat  theatri- 
cal character — were,  in  this  instance,  embellishments  which  enhanced 
the  splendor  of  the  scene.  The  various  uniforms,  the  rich  dresses,  the 
polished  arms  of  the  soldiery,  were  in  unison  with  the  marble,  the 
stucco,  the  bronze,  and  the  gilding.  The  impression  left  upon  the  mind 
was  not  that  of  sacredness ;  that  is,  not  upon  a  mind  that  had  been 
20 


230  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

formed  under  Protestant  and  Puritan  influences  ;  but  rather  of  a  gorge- 
ous  ceremonial  belonging  to  some  "gay  religion,  full  of  pomp  and  gold." 
But  we  travel  to  little  purpose  if  we  carry  with  us  the  standard  which 
is  formed  at  home,  and  expect  the  religious  sentiment  to  manifest  itself 
at  all  times,  and  in  all  places,  in  the  same  manner.  The  Scotch  Cove- 
nanter upon  the  hillside,  the  New  England  Methodist  at  a  camp-meet- 
ing, worship  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth  ;  but  shall  we  presume  to  say 
that  the  Italian  is  a  formalist  and  a  hypocrite,  because  his  devotion 
requires  the  aid  of  music,  painting,  and  sculpture,  and,  without  visible 
symbols,  goes  out  like  a  flame  without  air  ? 

In  due  season  the  Pope  appeared,  seated  in  the  "  sedia  gestatoria,"  a 
sort  of  capacious  arm-chair,  borne  upon  men's  shoulders,  flanked  on 
either  side  by  the  enormous  fan  of  white  peacock  feathers.  He  was 
carried  up  the  whole  length  of  the  nave,  distributing  his  blessing  with 
a  peculiar  motion  of  the  haud  upon  the  kneeling  congregation.  It 
seemed  by  no  means  a  comfortable  mode  of  transportation,  and  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  was  that  of  a  man  ill  at  ease,  and  sensible 
of  the  awkwardness  and  want  of  dignity  of  his  position.  His  dress 
was  of  white  satin,  richly  embroidered  with  gold  ;  a  costume  too  gaudy 
for  daylight,  and  by  no  means  so  becoming  as  that  of  the  cardinals, 
whose  flowing  robes  of  crimson  and  white  produced  the  finest  and 
richest  effect.  The  chamberlains  of  the  Pope,  who  attended  on  this 
occasion  in  considerable  numbers,  wear  the  dress  of  England  in  the 
time  of  Charles  I.,  so  well  known  in  the  portraits  of  Vandyke.  It  looks 
better  in  pictures  than  in  the  life,  and  shows  so  much  of  the  person 
that  it  requires  an  imposing  figure  to  carry  it  off.  A  commonplace 
man,  in  such  a  costume,  looks  like  a  knavish  valet  who  has  stolen  his 
master's  clothes. 

High  mass  was  said  by  the  Pope  in  person,  and  the  responses  were 
sung  by  the  choir.  He  performed  the  service  with  an  air  and  manner 
expressive  of  true  devotion  ;  and,  though  I  felt  that  there  was  a  chasm 
between  me  and  the  rite  which  I  witnessed,  I  followed  his  movements 
in  the  spirit  of  respect,  and  not  of  criticism.  But  one  impressive  and 
overpowering  moment  will  never  be  forgotten.  When  the  tinkling  of 
the  bell  announced  the  elevation  of  the  Host,  the  whole  of  the  vast 
assemblage  knelt  or  bowed  their  faces.  The  pavement  was  suddenly 
strewn  with  prostrate  forms.  A  silence  like  that  of  death  fell  upon  the 
church — as*  if  some  celestial  vision  had  passed  before  the  living  eyes, 
and  hushed  into  stillness  every  pulse  of  human  feeling.  After  the 
pause  of  a  few  seconds,  during  which  every  man  could  have  heard  the 
beating  of  his  own  heart,  a  band  of  wind  instruments  near  the  entrance, 
of  whose  presence  I  had  not  been  aware,  poured  forth  a  few  sweet  and 
solemn  strains,  which  floated  up  the  nave  and  overflowed  the  whole 
interior.  The  effect  of  this  invisible  music  was  beyond  anything  I  have 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  231 

ever  heard  or  ever  expect  to  hear.  The  air  seemed  stirred  with  the 
trembling  of  angelic  wings  ;  or,  as  if  the  gates  of  heaven  had  been 
opened,  and  a  "  wandering  breath"  from  the  songs  of  seraphs  had  been 
borne  to  the  earth.  How  fearfully  and  wonderfully  are  we  made!  A 
few  sounds,  which,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  would  have  been 
merely  a  passing  luxury  to  the  ear,  heard  at  this  moment,  and  beneath 
this  dome,  were  like  a  purifying  wave,  which,  for  an  instant,  swept  over 
the  soul,  bearing  away  with  it  all  the  soil  and  stains  of  earth,  and 
leaving  it  pure  as  infancy.  There  was,  it  is  true,  a  refluent  tide  ;  and 
the  world  displaced  by  the  solemn  strain  came  back  with  the  echo  ;  but 
though  we  "  cannot  keep  the  heights  we  are  competent  to  gain,"  we  are 
the  better  for  the  too  brief  exaltation. 

From  "  Six  Months  in  Italy." 


WASHINGTON"  AT   GERMANTOWN. 

SIDNEY  G.  FISHER. 

IN  1793,  whilst  the  yellow  fever  was  in  Philadelphia,  Washington 
resided  in  Germantown.  He  lived  in  the  house  on  the  south-west  side 
of  the  main  street  below  Schoolhouse  Lane,  then  the  property  of  Isaac 
Franks,  now  owned  and  occupied  by  the  family  of  the  late  estimable 
and  respected  Samuel  B.  Morris.  It  is  a  large  and  comfortable  man- 
sion, old-fashioned  in  its  style  of  architecture,  but  in  better  taste  than 
many  modern  houses  of  more  pretension.  There  Washington  dwelt ; 
and  every  day  his  stately  and  graceful  form  was  seen  in  the  street  and 
lanes,  on  foot  and  on  horseback,  returning  with  grave  courtesy  the 
salutations  of  the  people  ;  conversing  with  the  humblest  and  the  highest 
with  unaffected  kindness  and  simplicity,  mingled  with  native  dignity  ; 
and  inspiring  in  the  hearts  of  all,  veneration  and  love  by  his  aspect 
and  manner,  as  well  as  by  his  achievements  and  character.  No  man 
depended  less  for  the  respect  of  others  upon  the  adventitious  and  the 
external.  Not  to  what  he  had,  of  station  or  power  or  wealth,  but  to 
what  he  was,  to  what  he  did  daily,  to  what  he  had  done  through  life, 
was  the  spontaneous  homage  of  men  rendered,  whenever  he  could  be 
seen  among  them.  There  was  nothing  brilliant  or  dazzling  in  his 
character.  He  was  not  a  genius,  in  the  sense  that  implies  great  powers 
of  original  or  subtle  thought  or  creative  imagination.  He  was  neither 
a  philosopher,  a  poet,  nor  an  orator.  Even  in  war,  there  are  names 
whose  Plutonian  splendors  eclipse  his  own.  His  mind  was  distin- 
guished by  large,  sound,  practical  good  sense,  inspired  and  elevated  by 
noble  sentiment.  His  sagacity  was  of  that  high  kind  that  perceives 
intuitively  the  great  laws  that  control  the  action  of  society,  and  could 
neither  be  deceived  by  visionary  dreams  of  ideal  good,  nor  degraded  to 
serve  the  low  interests  of  the  passing  hour.  His  views  were  broad  and 


232          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

general,  comprehending  the  necessities  of  the  present  and  the  hopes 
of  the  future;  but  they  were  attainable,  and  contemplated  the  actual 
government  of  human  society,  not  Utopian  republics  of  impossible  hap- 
piness and  virtue.  His  qualities  in  action  were  similar.  Judgment, 
prudence,  unwearied  fortitude  and  perseverance,  bold  and  prompt  deci- 
sion, all  directed  to  just  and  moderate  ends,  and  these  gained,  satisfied; 
not  sighing  for  fresh  fields  of  enterprise,  and  other  worlds  to  conquer. 
No  temptation  could  have  made  him  cross  a  Rubicon  ;  no  Moscow  could 
have  allured  him  to  empire  or  ruin.  He  had  no  selfish  designs  either 
of  gain  or  glory  ;  no  private  purposes.  The  freedom  and  -independ- 
ence of  his_country  were  the  objects  to  which  he  devoted  himself, 
and  to  these  only  because  they  were  in  themselves  just  and  right.  He 

had  all 

"  The  king-becoming  graces  : 
As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness, 
Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 
Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude." 

From  "  Address  at  Germantown,"  1860. 


MANHATTAN   IN   THE   OLDEN  TIME. 

W.  IRVING. 

IN  this  dulcet  period  of  my  history,  when  the  beauteous  island  of 
Manna-hata  presented  a  scene,  the  very  counterpart  of  those  glowing 
pictures  drawn  of  the  golden  reign  of  Saturn,  there  was,  as  I  have 
before  observed,  a  happy  ignorance,  an  honest  simplicity  prevalent 
among  its  inhabitants,  which,  were  I  even  able  to  depict,  would  be  but 
little  understood  by  the  degenerate  age  for  which  I  am  doomed  to  write. 
Even  the  female  sex,  those  arch  innovators  upon  the  tranquillity,  the 
honesty,  and  gray-beard  customs  of  society,  seemed  for  a  while  to  con- 
duct themselves  with  incredible  sobriety  and  comeliness. 

Their  hair,  untortured  by  the  abominations  of  art,  was  scrupulously 
pomatumed  back  from  their  foreheads  with  a  candle,  and  covered  with 
a  little  cap  of  quilted  calico,  which  fitted  exactly  to  their  heads.  Their 
petticoats  of  linsey-woolsey  were  striped  with  a  variety  of  gorgeous 
dyes — though  I  must  confess  these  gallant  garments  were  rather  short, 
scarce  reaching  below  the  knee  ;  but  then  they  made  up  in  the  number, 
which  generally  equalled  that  of  the  gentlemen's  small  clothes  ;  and 
what  is  still  more  praiseworthy,  they  were  all  of  their  own  manufacture 
— of  which  circumstance,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  they  were  not  a 
little  vain. 

These  were  the  honest  days,  in  which  every  woman  stayed  at  home, 
read  the  Bible,  and  wore  pockets — ay,  and  that  too  of  a  goodly  size, 
fashioned  with  patchwork  into  many  curious  devices,  and  ostentatiously 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  233 

worn  on  the  outside.  These,  in  fact,  were  convenient  receptacles,  where 
all  good  housewives  carefully  stored  away  such  things  as  they  wished 
to  have  at  hand ;  by  which  means  they  often  came  to  be  incredibly 
crammed — and  I  remember  there  was  a  story  current  when  I  was  a 
boy,  that  the  lady  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller  once  had  occasion  to  empty 
her  right  pocket  in  search  of  a  wooden  ladle,  when  the  contents  filled 
a  couple  of  corn  baskets,  and  the  utensil  was  discovered  lying  among 
some  rubbish  in  one  corner— rbut  we  must  not  give  too  much  faith  to  all 
these  stories  ;  the  anecdotes  of  those  remote  periods  being  very  subject 
to  exaggeration. 

Besides  these  notable  pockets,  they  likewise  wore  scissors  and  pin- 
cushions suspended  from  their  girdles  by  red  ribands,  or  among  the 
more  opulent  and  showy  classes,  by  brass,  and  even  silver  chains — 
indubitable  tokens  of  thrifty  housewives  and  industrious  spinsters.  I 
cannot  say  much  in  vindication  of  the  shortness  of  the  petticoats ;  it 
doubtless  was  introduced  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the  stockings  a 
chance  to  be  seen,  which  were  generally  of  blue  worsted  with  magnifi- 
cent red  clocks — or  perhaps  to  display  a  well-turned  ankle,  and  a  neat, 
though  serviceable  foot,  set  off  by  a  high-heeled  leathern  shoe,  with  a 
large  and  splendid  silver  buckle.  Thus  we  find  that  the  gentle  sex  in 
all  ages  have  shown  the  same  disposition  to  infringe  a  little  upon  the 
laws  of  decorumv  in  order  to  betray  a  lurking  beauty,  or  gratify  an 
innocent  love  of  finery. 

From  "Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York." 


FASHIONABLE   PAETIES   IN  NEW  NETHERLANDS. 

W.  IRVING. 

IN  those  happy  days  a  well-regulated  family  always  rose  with  the 
dawn,  dined  at  eleven,  and  went  to  be$  at  sunset.  Dinner  was  inva- 
riably a  private  meal,  and  the  fat  old  burghers  showed  incontestable 
signs  of  disapprobation  and  uneasiness  at  being  surprised  by  a  visit 
from  a  neighbor  on  such  occasions.  But  though  our  worthy  ancestors 
were  thus  singularly  averse  to  giving  dinners,  yet  they  kept  up  the 
social  bands  of  intimacy  by  occasional  banquetings,  called  tea-parties. 

These  fashionable  parties  were  generally  confined  to  the  higher 
classes,  or  noblesse,  that  is  to  say,  such  as  kept  their  own  cows,  and 
drove  their  own  wagons.  The  company  commonly  assembled  at  three 
o'clock,  and  went  away  about  six,  unless  it  was  in  winter  time,  when 
the  fashionable  hours  were  a  little  earlier,  that  the  ladies  might  get 
home  before  dark.  The  tea-table  was  crowned  with  a  huge  earthen 
dish,  well  stored  with  slices  of  fat  pork,  fried  brown,  cut  up  into  morsels, 
and  swimming  in  gravy.  The  company  being  seated  round  the  genial 
20* 


234          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

board,  and  each  furnished  with  a  fork,  evinced  their  dexterity  in 
launching  at  the  fattest  pieces  in  this  mighty  dish — in  much  the  same 
manner  as  sailors  harpoon  porpoises  at  sea,  or  our  Indians  spear  salmon 
in  the  lakes.  Sometimes  the  table  was  graced  with  immense  apple 
pies,  or  saucers  full  of  preserved  peaches  and  pears  ;  but  it  was  always 
sure  to  boast  an  enormous  dish  of  balls  of  sweetened  dough,  fried  in 
hog's  fat,  and  called  doughnuts,  or  olykoeks — a  delicious  kind  of  cake, 
at  present  scarce  known  in  this  city,  except  in  genuine  Dutch  families. 

The  tea  was  served  out  of  a  majestic  delft  tea-pot,  ornamented  with 
paintings  of  fat  little  Dutch  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  tending  pigs 
— with  boats  sailing  in  the  air,  and  houses  built  in  the  clouds,  and 
sundry  other  ingenious  Dutch  fantasies.  The  beaux  distinguished 
themselves  by  their  adroitness  in  replenishing  this  pot  from  a  huge 
copper  tea-kettle,  which  would  have  made  the  pigmy  macaronies  of 
these  degenerate  days  sweat  merely  to  look  at  it.  To  sweeten  the 
beverage,  a  lump  of  sugar  was  laid  beside  each  cup — and  the  company 
alternately  nibbled  and  sipped  with  great  decorum,  until  an  improve- 
ment was  introduced  by  a  shrewd,  a'nd  economic  old  lady,  which  was  to 
suspend  a  large  lump  directly  over  the  tea-table,  by  a  string  from  the 
ceiling,  so  that  it  could  be  swung  from  mouth  to  mouth— an  ingenious 
expedient,  which  is  still  kept  up  by  some  families  in  Albany;  but  which 
prevails  without  exception  in  Communipaw,  Bergen,  Flatbush,  and  all 
our  uncontaminated  Dutch  villages. 

At  these  primitive  tea-parties  the  utmost  propriety  and  dignity  of 
deportment  prevailed.  No  flirting  nor  coquetting — no  gambling  of  old 
ladies  nor  hoyden  chattering  and  romping  of  young  ones — no  self-satis- 
fied struttings  of  wealthy  gentlemen,  with  their  brains  in  their  pockets 
— nor  amusing  conceits,  and  monkey  divertisemeuts,  of  smart  young 
gentlemen,  with  no  brains  at  all.  On  the  contrary,  the  young  ladies 
seated  themselves  demurely  in  their  rush-bottomed  chairs,  and  knit 
their  own  woollen  stockings;  nor  ever  opened  their  lips  excepting  to 
say  yah  Mynheer,  or  yah  ya  Vrouw,  to  any  question  that  was  asked 
them  ;  behaving,  in  all  things,  like  decent,  well-educated  damsels.  As 
to  the  gentlemen,  each  of  them  tranquilly  smoked  his  pipe,  and  seemed 
lost  in  contemplation  of  the  blue  and  white  tiles  with  which  the  fire- 
places were  decorated ;  wherein  sundry  passages  of  Scripture  were 
piously  portrayed — Tobit  and  his  dog  figured  to  great  advantage; 
Haman  swung  conspicuously  on  his  gibbet,  and  Jonah  appeared  most 
manfully  bouncing  .out  of  the  whale,  like  Harlequin  through  a  barrel 
of  fire. 

The  parties  broke  up  without  noise  and  without  confusion.  They 
were  carried  home  by  their  own  carriages,  that  is  to  say,  by  the  vehicles 
nature  had  provided  them,  excepting  such  of  the  wealthy  as  could  afford 
to  keep  a  wagon.  The  gentlemen  gallantly  attended  their  fair  ones  to 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  235 

their  respective  abodes,  and  took  leave  of  them  with  a  hearty  smack  at 
the  door :  which,  as  it  was  an  established  piece  of  etiquette,  done  in 
perfect  simplicity  and  honesty  of  heart,  occasioned  no  scandal  at  that 
time,  nor  should  it  at  the  present — if  our  great-grandfathers  approved 
of  the  custom,  it  would  argue  a  great  want  of  reverence  in  their  de- 
scendants to  say  a  word  against  it. 

From  "Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York." 


SHERIDAN'S  CLASSICAL  POWERS. 

ANONYMOUS. 

SHERIDAN  commanded  the  whole  Anthology;  and  Avas  not  always 
satisfied  with  that.  On  one  occasion,  his  antagonist  on  the  Treasury 
bench  had  made  a  quotation  from  a  Greek  dramatist  that  quite  startled 
from  its  aptness.  It  was  the  end  of  a  peroration,  too,  and  the  house 
was  on  the  point  of  dividing,  when  Sheridan  started  up,  with  apparent 
warmth,  and  taxed  the  right  honorable  gentleman  opposite  with  hav- 
ing uncan'didly  stopped  short  in  his  quotation  ;  for  that,  if  he  had  con- 
tinued it  to  the  close,  he  must  have  announced  a  principle  and  an 
illustration  wholly  subversive  of  the  first  proposition — a  pernicious 
hypothesis,  merely  put  forward  in  order  to  be  demolished  by  the  se- 
quel. He  then  delivered  a  number  of  Greek  lines,  without  any 
apparent  effort  of  memory ;  and  so  perfectly  in  accordance  with  his 
assertion,  that  the  minister  admitted  the  application,  and  declared  that 
he  really  had  forgotten  the  solution  which  Mr.  Sheridan  supplied. 
This  incident  balked  the  expectation  of  the  ministry  on  division ;  and 
being  questioned  by  some  classical  friend,  who  had  vainly  referred  to 
his  library  for  the  lines,  Sheridan  confessed  that  he  had  improvisated 
the  verses  he  professed  to  supply  in  continuation. 


IRVING'S  WASHINGTON. 

G.  W.  GREENE. 

WE  regard  the  brilliant  success  of  these  volumes  as  an  occasion  of 
joyful  congratulation  to  the  citizens  of  our  republic.  Irving's  Life  of 
Washington  is  eminently  a  national  work,  upon  which  they  can  all 
look  with  unmingled  pride.  It  has  not  merely  enriched  our  literature 
with  a  production  of  rare  beauty,  but  has  given  new  force  to  those 
local  associations  which  bind  us,  as  with  hallowed  ties,  to  the  spots 
where  great  men  lived  and  great  things  were  done.  Few  will  now 
cross  the  Delaware  without  remembering  that  Christmas  night  of  tem- 
pest and  victory.  Who  can  look  upon  the  heights  of  Brooklyn  without 


236          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

fancying  that,  as  he  gazes,  the  spires  and  streets  fade  from  his  view; 
while  in  their  stead  stern  and  anxious  faces  rise  through  the  misty  air, 
and  amid  them  the  majestic  form  of  Washington,  with  a  smile  of  tri- 
umph just  lighting  for  a  moment  his  care-worn  features,  at  the  thought 
of  the  prize  he  has  snatched  from  the  grasp  of  a  proud  and  exulting 
enemy  ?  And  Princeton,  and  Valley  Forge,  and  Monmouth,  and  the 
crowning  glory  of  Yorktown, — how  do  they  live  anew  for  us !  With 
what  perennial  freshness  will  their  names  descend  to  posterity  !  And 
those  two  noble  streams  that  flow  to  the  sea  through  alternations  of 
pastoral  beauty  and  rugged  grandeur, — the  lovely  Potomac,  the  majes- 
tic Hudson, — how  have  they  become  blended  by  these  magic  pages  in 
indissoluble  association !  The  one  the  cherished  home  of  Washington, 
the  seat  of  his  domestic  joys,  his  rural  delights  ;  looked  to  with  eager 
yearning  from  the  din  of  camps  and  battle-fields  ;  sighed  for  with 
weary  longing  amid  the  pomp  and  pageantry  of  official  greatness ;  to 
which  he  returned  so  gladly  when  his  task  had  been  accomplished ; 
and  which,  dying  with  the  serenity  of  Christian  resignation,  he  conse- 
crated by  the  holiest  of  all  associations,  the  patriot's  grave  ; — the  other 
the  scene  of  cares  and  triumphs  ;  on  whose  banks  he  had  passed  slow 
days  of  hope  deferred  ;  whose  waters  had  borne  him  to  and  fro  through 
checkered  years  of  dubious  fortune ;  and  had  witnessed  the  touching 
sublimity  of  his  farewell  to  his  companions  in  arms,  and  the  simple 
grandeur  of  his  reception  as  first  President  of  the  country  he  had 
saved !  How  meet  was  it  that,  while  his  ashes  repose  beside  the  waters 
of  the  Potomac,  his  life  should  have  been  written  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson ! 

From  "  Biographical  Studies." 


COMMON   CONVEKSATION. 

BULWER. 

HESITATING,  Humming,  and  Drawling,  are  the  three  Graces  of  our 
conversation. 

We  are  at  dinner:  a  gentleman, — "  a  man  about  town," — is  inform- 
ing us  of  a  misfortune  that  has  befallen  his  friend :  "  No — I  assure 
you — now — er — er — that — er — it  was  the  most  shocking  accident  pos- 
sible— er — poor  Chester  was  riding  in  the  park — er — you  know  that 
gray — er — (substantive  dropped,  hand  a  little  flourished  instead), — of 
his — splendid  creature  ! — er — well,  sir,  and  by  Jove — er — the — er — 
(no  substantive, — flourish  again), — took  fright,  and — e — er" — here  the 
gentleman  throws  up  his  chin  and  eyes,  sinks  back,  exhausted,  into  his 
chair,  and,  after  a  pause,  adds,  "  Well,  they  took  him  into — the  shop 
— there — you  know — with  the  mahogany  sashes — just  by  the  park — 
er — and  the — er — man  there — set  his — what  d'ye  call  it — er — collar 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  237 

bone;  but  he   was — er — ter — ri — bly — terribly" — a  full   stop.      The 
gentleman  shakes  his  head ;  and  the  sentence  is  suspended  to  eternity. 

Another  gentleman  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale,  thus,  logically: 
"  Ah  !  shocking,  shocking ! — but  poor  Chester  was  a  very  agreeable — 
er" — full  stop. 

"  Oh  !  very  gentlemanlike  fellow  ! — quite  shocking ! — quite — did  you 
go  into  the — er — to-day  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  ;  the  day  was  so  un — er — May  I  take  some  wine  with 
you  ?" 

The  ladies  usually  resort  to  some  pet  phrases  that,  after  the  fashion 
of  short-hand,  express  as  much  as  possible  in  a  word:  "  What  do  you 
think  of  Lady 'a  last  novel  ?" 

"  Oh !  they  say  His  not  very  natural.  The  characters,  to  be  sure, 
are  a  little  overdrawn  ;  and  then  the  style — so — so — I  don't  know  what 
— you  understand  me  ; — but  it's  a  dear  book  altogether !  Do  you  know 
Lady ?" 

"  Oh  dear !  yes ;  nice  creature  she  is  1" 

"  Very  nice  person,  indeed." 

"  What  a  dear  little  horse  that  is  of  poor  Lord 'a  \" 

11  He  is  very  vicious." 

"  Is  he  really  ? — nice  little  thing !" 

"Ah!  you  must  not  abuse  poor  Mrs. ;  to  be  sure,  she  is  very 

ill-natured,  and  they  say  she's  so  stingy !  but  then  she  really  is  such  a 
dear " 

"  Nice"  and  "  dear"  are  the  great  To  Prepon  and  To  Kalon  of  femi- 
nine conversational  moralities. 

But,  perhaps,  the  genius  of  our  conversation  is  most  shown  in  the 
art  of  explaining. 

"  Were  you  in  the  House  last  night?" 

"  Yes — er— Sir  Robert  Peel  made  a  splendid  speech  1" 

"  Ah  !  and  how  did  he  justify  his  vote  ?     I've  not  seen  the  papers." 

"  Oh,  I  can  tell  you  exactly — ahem— he  said,  you  see,  that  he  dis- 
liked the  ministers,  and  so  forth — you  understand — but  that — er — in 
these  times,  and  so  forth, — and  with  this  river  of  blood — oh  !  he  was 
very  fine  there ! — you  must  read  it — well,  sir ;  and  then  he  was  very 
good  against  O'Connell — capital! — and  all  this  agitation  going  on — 
and  murder,  and  so  forth  ; — and  then,  sir,  he  told  a  capital  story  about 
a  man  and  his  wife  being  murdered,  and  putting  a  child  in  the  fire- 
place— you  see — I  forget  now — but  it  was  capital :  and  then  he  wound 
up  with — a — with — a — in  his  usual  way,  in  short.  Oh!  he  quite  justi- 
fied himself — you  understand — in  short,  you  see,  he  could  not  do  other- 
wise." 

Caricatured  as  this  may  seem  to  others,  it  is  a  picture  from  actual 
life :  the  explainer,  too,  is  reckoned  a  very  sensible  man ;  and  the 
listener  saw  nothing  inconclusive  in  the  elucidation. 


238  THE    SELECT   ACADEMIC   SPEAKER. 

THE    COUNSEL   OF   QUEEN   CAROLINE. 

DR.  DORAN. 

MR.  BROUGHAM  entered  on  the  queen's  defence  in  a  speech  of  great 
boldness  and  power.  The  sentiments  put  forth  in  that  oration  would 
probably  not  be  endorsed  now  by  Lord  Brougham.  He  declared,  too, 
that  nothing  should  prevent  him  from  fulfilling  his  duty,  and  that 
he  would  recriminate  upon  the  king  if  he  found  it  necessary  to  do  so. 
The  threat  gave  some  uneasiness  to  ministers,  but  they  trusted,  never- 
theless, to  the  learned  counsel's  discretion.  He  would  have  been 
justified  in  the  public  mind  if  he  had  realized  his  promise.  The 
popular  opinion,  however,  hardly  supported  him  in  what  followed, 
when  he  declared  that  an  English  advocate  could  look  to  nothing  but 
the  rights  of  his  client,  and  that  even  if  the  country  itself  should 
suffer,  his  feelings  as  a  patriot  must  give  way  to  his  professional  obli- 
gations. This  was  only  one  of  many  instances  of  the  abuse  of  the 
very  extensively  abused,  and  widely  misunderstood  maxim  of  Fiat 
justitia  ruat  ccelum. 

Mr.  Denman,  the  queen's  solicitor-general,  was  not  less  legally 
audacious,  if  one  may  so  speak,  than  his  great  leader.  In  a  voice  of 
thunder,  and  in  presence  of  the  assembled  peerage  of  the  realm,  he 
denounced  one  of  the  king's  brothers  as  a  calumniator.  Mr.  Hush, 
who  was  present  on  the  occasion,  says,  "  the  words  were  '  Come  forth, 
THOU  SLANDERER!' — a  denunciation,"  he  goes  on  to  say,  "the  more 
severe  from  the  sarcasm  with  which  it  was  done,  and  the  turn  of  his 
eye  towards  its  object."  That  object  was  the  Duke  of  Clarence  ;  and 
in  reference  to  the  exclamation,  and  the  fierce  spirit  of  the  hour, 
generally,  Mr.  Rush  says : — "  Even  after  the  whole  trial  had  ended, 
Sir  Francis  Burdett,  just  out  of  prison  for  one  libel,  proclaimed  aloud 
to  his  constituents,  and  had  it  printed  in  all  the  papers,  that  the  minis- 
ters ALL  DESERVED  TO  BE  HANGED.  This  tempest  of  abuse,  incessantly 
directed  against  the  king  and  all  who  stood  by  him,  was  borne  during 
several  months,  without  the  slightest  attempt  to  check  or  punish  it ; 
and  it  is  too  prominent  a  fact  to  be  left  unnoticed,  that  the  same  advo- 
cate, who  so  fearlessly  uttered  the  above  denunciation,  was  made 
attorney-general  when  the  prince  of  the  blood  who  was  the  OBJECT  OF 
IT,  sat  upon  the  throne  ;  and  was  subsequently  raised  to  the  still  higher 

dignity  of  lord  chief  justice." 

From  "  Lives  of  the  Queens  of  Eiigland." 


RELIGIOUS,  MORAL,  AND  DIDACTIC. 


THE  VOICE   OF   THE   PREACHER. 

J.  Q.  ADAMS. 

WHO  is  it  that,  with  the  voice  of  a  Joshua,  shall  control  the  course 
of  nature  herself  in  the  perverted  heart,  and  arrest  the  luminaries  of 
wisdom  and  virtue  in  their  rapid  revolutions  round  this  little  world  of 
man?  It  is  the  genuine  orator  of  heaven,  with  a  heart  sincere,  up- 
right, and  fervent ;  a  mind  stored  with  universal  knowledge  required 
as  the  foundation  of  the  art ;  with  a  genius  for  the  invention,  a  skill  for 
the  disposition,  and  a  voice  for  the  elocution  of  every  argument  to  con- 
vince, and  of  every  sentiment  to  persuade.  If,  then,  we  admit  that 
the  art  of  oratory  qualifies  the  minister  of  tha  gospel  to  perform,  in 
higher  perfection,  the  duties  of  his  station,  we  can  no  longer  question 
whether  it  be  proper  for  his  cultivation,.  It  is  more  than  proper  ;  it  is 
one  of  his  most  solemn  and  indispensable  duties. 

From  "Lectures  on  Rhetoric  and  Oratory." 


THE   QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND  AT   HER  ACCESSION. 

SYDNEY  SMITH. 

A  YOUNG  queen,  at  that  period  of  life  which  is  commonly  given  up 
to  frivolous  amusement,  sees  at  once  the  great  principles  by  which  she 
should  be  guided,  and  steps  at  once  into  the  great  duties  of  her  station. 
The  importance  of  educating  the  lower  orders  of  the  people  is  never 
absent  from  her  mind ;  she  takes  up  this  principle  at  the  beginning  of 
her  life,  and  in  all  the  change  of  servants,  and  in  all  the  struggle  of 
parties,  looks  to  it  as  a  source  of  permanent  improvement.  A  great 
object  of  her  affections  is  the  preservation  of  peace  ;  she  regards  a  state 
of  war  as  the  greatest  of  all  human  evils,  thinks  that  the  lust  of  con- 
quest is  not  a  glory  but  a  bad  crime  ;  despises  the  folly  and  miscalcu- 
lations of  war,  and  is  willing  to  sacrifice  everything  to  peace,  but  the 
clear  honor  of  her  land. 

The  patriot  queen,  whom  I  am  painting,  reverences  the  national 
church — frequents  its  worship,  and  regulates  her  faith  by  its  precepts ; 
but  she  withstands  the  encroachments,  and  keeps  down  the  ambition 
natural  to  establishments,  and,  by  rendering  the  privileges  of  the 

(239) 


240          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

church  compatible  with  the  civil  freedom  of  all  sects,  confers  strength 
upon,  and  adds  duration  to,  that  wise  and  magnificent  institution. 
And  then  this  youthful  monarch,  profoundly  but  wisely  religious, 
disdaining  hypocrisy,  and  far  above  the  childish  follies  of  false  piety, 
casts  herself  upon  God,  and  seeks  from  the  gospel  of  his  blessed  Son  a 
path  for  her  steps  and  a  comfort  for  her  soul.  Here  is  a  picture  which 
warms  every  English  heart,  and  would  bring  all  this  congregation 
upon  their  bended  knees  before  Almighty  God  to  pray  it  may  be 
realized.  What  limits  to  the  glory  and  happiness  of  our  native  land, 
if  the  Creator  should,  in  his  mercy,  have  placed  in  the  heart  of  this 
royal  woman  the  rudiments  of  wisdom  and  mercy ;  and  if,  giving  them 
time  to  expand,  and  to  bless  our  children's  children  with  her  goodness, 
He  should  grant  to  her  a  long  sojourning  upon  earth,  and  leave  her  to 
reign  over  us  till  she  is  well  stricken  in  years  ?  What  glory !  what 
happiness !  what  joy !  what  bounty  of  God !  I  of  course  can  only 
expect  to  see  the  beginning  of  such  a  splendid  period ;  but  when  I  do 
see  it,  I  shall  exclaim  with  the  Psalmist:  "  Lord,  now  lettest  thou  thy 
servant  depart  in  peace,  for  mine  eyes  have  seen  thy  salvation." 

From  "  Sermon  <m  the  Duties  of  the  Queen." 


THE   OFFICE   OF   A  JUDGE. 

SYDNEY  SMITH. 

HE  who  takes  the  office  of  a  judge,  as  it  now  exists  in  this  country, 
.takes  in  his  hands  a  splendid  gem,  good  and  glorious,  perfect  and 
pure.  Shall  he  give  it  up  mutilated,  shall  he  mar  it,  shall  he  darken 
it,  shall  it  emit  no  light,  shall  it  be  valued  at  no  price,  shall  it  excite 
no  wonder?  Shall  he  find  it  a  diamond,  shall  he  leave  it  a  stone? 
What  shall  we  say  to  the  man  who  would  wilfully  destroy  with  fire 
the  magnificent  temple  of  God,  in  which  I  am  now  preaching?  Far 
worse  is  he  who  ruins  the  moral  edifices  of  the  world,  which  time  and 
toil,  and  many  prayers  to  God,  and  many  sufferings  of  men,  have 
reared ;  who  puts  out  the  light  of  the  times  in  which  he  lives,  and 
leaves  us  to  wander  amid  the  darkness  of  corruption  and  the  desola- 
tion of  sin.  There  may  be,  there  probably  is,  in  this  church,  some 
young  man  who  may  hereafter  fill  the  office  of  an  English  judge,  when 
the  greater  part  of  those  who  hear  me  are  dead,  and  mingled  with  the 
dust  of  the  grave.  Let  him  remember  my  words,  and  let  them  form 
and  fashion  his  spirit ;  he  cannot  tell  in  what  dangerous  and  awful 
times  he  may  be  placed ;  but  as  a  mariner  looks  to  his  compass  in  the 
calm,  and  looks  to  his  compass  in  the  storm,  and  never  keeps  his  eyes 
off  his  compass,  so,  in  every  vicissitude  of  a  judicial  life,  deciding  for 
the  people,  deciding  against  the  people,  protecting  the  just  rights  of 
kings,  or  restraining  their  unlawful  ambition,  let  him  ever  cling  to 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  241 

that  pure,  exalted,  and  Christian  independence  which  towers  over  the 
little  motives  of  life ;  which  no  hope  of  favor  can  influence,  which  no 

effort  of  power  can  control. 

From  " Sermon  at  the  Assizes" 


THE    ABUSE    OF    CONSCIENCE. 

LAURENCE  STERNE. 

A  MAN  shall  be  vicious  in  his  principles  ;  exceptionable  in  his  conduct 
to  the  world :  shall  live  shameless, — in  the  open  commission  of  a  sin 
which  no  reason  nor  pretence  can  justify ; — a  sin,  by  which,  contrary 
to  all  the  workings  of  humanity  within,  he  shall  ruin  for  ever  the 
deluded  partner  of  his  guilt ; — rob  her  of  her  best  dowry  ; — and  not 
only  cover  her  own  head  with  dishonor,  but  involve  a  whole  virtuous 
family  in  shame  and  sorrow  for  her  sake. — Surely, — you'll  think,  con- 
science must  lead  such  a  man  a  troublesome  life : — he  can  have  no  rest 
night  nor  day  from  its  reproaches. 

Alas !  Conscience  had  something  else  to  do  all  this  time  than  break 
in  upon  him :  as  Elijah  reproached  the  god  Baal,  this  domestic  god 
was  either  talking,  or  pursuing,  or  was  in  a  journey,  or,  peradventure,  he 
slept,  and  could  not  be  awoke.  Perhaps  he  was  gone  out  in  company 
with  HONOR,  to  fight  a  duel ; — to  pay  off  some  debt  at  play  ; — or  dirty 
annuity,  the  bargain  of  his  lust. — Perhaps  Conscience  all  this  time 
was  engaged  at  home,  talking  aloud  against  petty  larceny,  and  execu- 
ting vengeance  upon  some  such  puny  crimes  as  his  fortune  and  rank 
in  life  secured  him  against  all  temptation  of  committing : — so  that  he 
lives  as  merrily, — sleeps  as  soundly  in  his  bed ; — and,  at  the  last,  meets 
death  with  as  much  unconcern, — perhaps  much  more  so,  than  a  much 
better  man. 

A  third  is  crafty  and  designing  in  his  nature. — View  his  whole  life, — 
'tis  nothing  else  but  a  cunning  contexture  of  dark  arts  and  inequitable 
subterfuges,  basely  to  defeat  the  true  intent  of  all  laws,  plain  dealing, 
and  the  safe  enjoyment  of  our  several  properties. — You  will  see  such  a 
one  working  out  a  frame  of  little  designs  upon  the  ignorance  and  per- 
plexities of  the  poor  and  needy  man  : — shall  raise  a  fortune  upon  the 
inexperience  of  a  youth, — or  the  unsuspecting  temper  of  his  friend, 
who  would  have  trusted  him  with  his  life.  When  old  age  comes  on, 
and  repentance  calls  him  to  look  back  upon  this  black  account,  and 
state  it  over  again  with  his  conscience — Conscience  looks  into  the 
Statutes  at  Large, — finds  perhaps  no  express  law  broken  by  what  he  has 
done  ; — perceives  no  penalty  or  forfeiture  incurred : — sees  no  scourge 
waving  over  his  head, — or  prison  opening  its  gate  upon  him. — What  i? 
there  to  affright  his  conscience  1 — Conscience  has  got  safely  entrenched 
behind  the  letter  of  the  law,  sits  there  invulnerable,  fortified  with  cases 
21  Q 


242  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

and  reports  so  strongly  on  all  sides— that  'tis  not  preaching  can  dis- 
possess it  of  its  hold. 

From  "  Sermons" 


BEFLECTION. 

COLERIDGE. 

READER  ! — You  have  been  bred  in  a  laud  abounding  with  men,  able 
in  arts,  learning,  and  knowledges  manifold,  this  man  in  one,  this  in 
another,  few  in  many,  none  in  all.  But  there  is  one  art,  of  which 
every  man  should  be  master,  the  art  of  REFLECTION.  If  you  are  not  a 
thinking  man,  to  what  purpose  are  you  a  man  at  all  ?  In  like  manner, 
there  is  one  knowledge,  which  it  is  every  man's  interest  and  duty  to 
acquire,  namely,  SELF-KNOWLEDGE  :  or  to  what  end  was  man  alone,  of 
all  animals,  indued  by  the  Creator  with  the  faculty  of  self-conscious- 
ness ?  Truly  said  the  Pagan  moralist,  E  coelo  descendi,  Fvwftt  ZeauTov. 

But  you  are  likewise  born  in  a  CHRISTIAN  land :  and  Revelation  has 
provided  for  you  new  subjects  for  reflection,  and  new  treasures  of 
knowledge,  never  to  be  unlocked  by  him  who  remains  self-ignorant. 
Self-knowledge  is  the  key  to  this  casket ;  and  by  reflection  alone  can 
it  be  obtained.  Reflect  on  your  own  thoughts,  actions,  circumstances, 
and — which  will  be  of  especial  aid  to  you  in  forming  a  Tidbit  of  reflec- 
tion— accustom  yourself  to  reflect  on  the  words  you  use,  hear,  or  read, 
their  birth,  derivation,  and  history.  For  if  words  are  not  THINGS,  they 
are  LIVING  POWERS,  by  which  the  things  of  most  importance  to  man- 
kind are  actuated,  combined,  and  humanized.  Finally,  by  reflection 
you  may  draw  from  the  fleeting  facts  of  your  worldly  trade,  art,  or 
profession,  a  science  permanent  as  your  immortal  soul;  and  make 
even  these  subsidiary  and  preparative  to  the  reception  of  spiritual 
truth,  "doing  as  the  dyers  do,  who,  having  first  dipt  their  silks  in 
colors  of  less  value,  then  give  them  the  last  tincture  of  crimson  in 

grain." 

From  Preface  of  "  Aids  to  Reflection:' 


LIFE. 

ARCHBISHOP  LEIGHTON. 

"  WE  are  always  resolving  to  live,  and  yet  never  set  about  life  in 
good  earnest."  Archimedes  was  not  singular  in  his  fate  ;  but  a  great 
part  of  mankind  die  unexpectedly,  while  they  are  poring  upon  the 
figures  they  have  described  in  the  sand.  0  wretched  mortals !  who, 
having  condemned  themselves,  as  it  were,  to  the  mines,  seem  to  make 
it  their  chief  study  to  prevent  their  ever  regaining  their  liberty. 
Hence,  new  employments  are  assumed  in  the  place  of  old  ones ;  and, 
as  the  Roman  philosopher  truly  expresses  it,  "  one  hope  succeeds 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  243 

another,  one  instance  of  ambition  makes  way  for  another  ;  and  we 
never  desire  an  end  of  our  misery,  but  only  that  it  may  change  its 
outward  form."  When  we  cease  to  be  candidates,  and  to  fatigue  our- 
selves in  soliciting  interest,  we  begin  to  give  our  votes  and  interest  to 
those  who  solicit  us  in  their  turn.  When  we  are  wearied  of  the  trouble 
of  prosecuting  crimes  at  the  bar,  we  commence  judges  ourselves  ;  and 
he  who  is  grown  old  in  the  management  of  other  men's  affairs  for 
money,  is  at  last  employed  in  improving  his  own  wealth.  At  the  age 
of  fifty,  says  one,  I  will  retire,  and  take  my  ease ;  or,  the  sixtieth  year 
of  my  life  shall  entirely  disengage  me  from  public  offices  and  business. 
Fool !  art  thou  not  ashamed  to  reserve  to  thyself  the  last  remains  and 
dregs  of  life?  Who  will  stand  surety  that  thou  shalt  live  so  long? 
And  what  immense  folly  is  it,  so  far  to  forget  mortality,  as  to  think  of 
beginning  to  live  at  that  period  of  years,  to  which  a  few  only  attain  ! 


SUFFERING  ENHANCES  VIRTUE. 

BARROW. 

WE  might  allege  the  suffrages  of  eminent  philosophers,  persons 
esteemed  most  wise  by  improvement  of  natural  light,  who  have  de- 
clared that  perfection  of  virtue  can  hardly  be  produced  or  expressed 
otherwise  than  by  undergoing  mostfharp  afflictions  and  tortures  ;  and 
that  God  therefore,  as  a  wise  Father,  is  wont  with  them  to  exercise 
those  whom  He  best  loveth ;  we  might  also  produce  instances  of  divers 
persons,  even  among  Pagans,  most  famous  and  honorable  in  the  judg- 
ment of  all  posterity  for  their  singular  tirtue  and  wisdom,  who  were 
tried  in  this  furnace,  and  thereby  shone  most  brightly ;  their  suffering, 
by  the  iniquity  and  ingratitude,  by  the  envy  and  malignity  of  their 
times,  in  their  reputation,  liberty,  and  life  ;  their  undergoing  foul 
slanders,  infamous  punishments,  and  ignominious  deaths,  more  than 
any  other  practices  of  their  life,  recommending  them  to  the  regard  and 
admiration  of  future  ages ;  although  none  of  them,  as  our  Lord,  did 
suffer  of  choice,  or  upon  design  to  advance  the  interests  of  gpodness, 
but  upon  constraint,  and  irresistible  force  put  on  them ;  none  of  them 
did  suffer  in  a  manner  so  signal,  with  circumstances  so  rare,  and  with 
events  so  wonderful ;  yet  suffering  as  they  did  was  their  chief  glory ; 
whence  it  see"meth  that  even  according  to  the  sincerest  dictates  of 
common  wisdom  this  dispensation  was  not  so  unaccountable;  nor  ought 
the  Greeks,  in  consistency  with  themselves,  and  in  respect  to  their  own 
admired  philosophy,  to  have  deemed  our  doctrine  of  the  cross  foolish, 
or  unreasonable. 


244  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


THE    GKEAT   ASSIZE. 

JOHN  WESLEY. 

How  beautiful  are  the  feet  of  those  who  are  sent  by  the  wise  and 
gracious  providence  of  God,  to  execute  justice  on  earth,  to  defend  the 
injured  and  punish  the  wrong-doer !  Are  they  not  the  ministers  of  God 
to  us  for  ,good,  the  grand  supporters  of  the  public  tranquillity,  the 
patrons  of  innocence  and  virtue,  the  security  of  all  our  temporal  bless- 
ings ?  And  does  not  every  one  of  these  represent  not  only  an  earthly 
prince,  but  the  Judge  of  the  earth?  Him,  whose  "name  is  written 
upon  His  thigh;  King  of  kings,  and  Lord  of  lords?"  Oh  that  all  these 
sons  of  the  right  hand  of  the  Most  High,  may  be  holy  as  He  is  holy ! 
Wise  with  the  wisdom  that  sitteth  by  His  throne :  like  Him  who  is  the 
eternal  \Visdom  of  the  Father !  No  respecter  of  persons,  as  He  is  none ; 
but  rendering  to  every  man  according  to  his  works:  like  Him  inflexibly, 
inexorably  just,  though  pitiful  and  of  tender-mercy  !  So  shall  they  be 
terrible,  indeed,  to  them  that  do  evil,  as  not  bearing  the  sword  in  vain. 
So  shall  the  laws  of  our  land  have  their  full  use  and  due  honor,  and  the 
throne  of  our  King  be  still  established  in  righteousness. 

Ye  truly  honorable  men  whom  God  and  the  king  have  commissioned, 
in  a  lower  degree,  to  administer  justice,  may  not  ye  be  compared  to 
those  ministering  spirits  who  will  attend  the  Judge  coming  in  the 
clouds?  May  you  not  like  them  burn  with  love  to  God  and  man? 
May  you  not  love  righteousness  and  hate  iniquity?  May  ye  all  minister 
in  your  several  spheres  (such  honor  hath  G,od  given  you  also !)  to  them 
that  shall  be  heirs  of  salvation,  and  to  the  glory  of  your  great  Sove- 
reign!  May  ye  remain  the  establishes  of  peace,  the  blessing  and 
ornaments  of  your  country,  the  protectors  of  a  guilty  land,  the  guardian 
angels  of  all  that  are  round  about  you  ! 


MODERN  INFIDELITY. 

ROBERT  HALL. 

IN  those  conjunctures  which  tempt  avarice  or  inflame  ambition, 
when  a  crime  flatters  with  the  prospect  of  impunity,  and  the  certainty 
of  immense  advantage,  what  is  to  restrain  an  atheist  from  its  commis- 
sion ?  To  say  that  remorse  will  deter  him  is  absurd  ;  for  remorse,  as 
distinguished  from  pity,  is  the  sole  offspring  of  religious  belief,  the 
extinction  of  which  is  the  great  purpose  of  the  infidel  philosophy. 

The  dread  of  punishment  or  infamy  from  his  fellow-creatures  will  be 
an  equally  ineffectual  barrier  ;  because  crimes  are  only  committed  under 
such  circumstances  as  suggest  the  hope  of  concealment ;  not  to  say 
that  crimes  themselves  will  soon  lose  their  infamy  and  their  horror 
under  the  influence  of  that  system  which  destroys  the  sanctity  of  virtue, 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  245 

by  converting  it  into  a  low  calculation  of  worldly  interest.  Here  the 
sense  of  an  ever-present  Ruler,  and  of  an  avenging  Judge,  is  of  the 
most  awful  and  indispensable  necessity;  as  it  is  that  alone  which 
impresses  on  all  crimes  the  character  of  folly,  shows  that  duty  and 
interest  in  every  instance  coincide,  and  that  the  most  prosperous  career 
of  vice,  the  most  brilliant  successes  of  criminality,  are  but  an  accumu- 
lation ofwratli  against  the  day  of  wrath. 

The  efforts  of  infidels  to  diffuse  the  principles  of  infidelity  among 
the  common  people  is  another  alarming  symptom  peculiar  to  the  present 
time.  Hume,  Bolingbroke,  and  Gibbon,  addressed  themselves  solely  to 
the  more  polished  classes  of  the  community,  and  would  have  thought 
their  refined  speculations  debased  by  an  attempt  to  enlist  disciples  from 
among  the  populace.  Infidelity  has  lately  grown  condescending ;  bred 
in  the  speculations  of  a  daring  philosophy,  immured  at  first  in  the 
cloisters  of  the  learned,  and  afterward  nursed  in  the  lap  of  voluptuous- 
ness and  of  courts  ;  having  at  length  reached  its  full  maturity,  it  boldly 
ventures  to  challenge  the  suffrages  of  the  people,  solicits  the  acquaint- 
ance of  peasants  and  mechanics,  and  seeks  to  draw  whole  nations  to  its 
standard. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  account  for  this  new  state  of  things.  While 
infidelity  was  rare,  it  was  employed  as  the  instrument  of  literary  vanity; 
its  wide  diffusion  having  disqualified  it  for  answering  that  purpose,  it 
is  now  adopted  as  the  organ  of  political  convulsion.  Literary  distinc- 
tion is  conferred  by  the  approbation  of  a  few  ;  but  the  total  subversion, 
and  overthrow  of  society  demands  the  concurrence  of  millions. 


THE   MINISTRY   OF   THE   SCIENCES. 

W.  B.  STEVENS,  D.  D. 

IT  is  pleasant  to  know  that  the  more  perfect  a  science  becomes  the 
more  it  accords  with  the  Bible.  In  the  youth  of  every  science  there  is 
a  period  when,  like  the  prodigal  in  the  parable,  it  leaves  its  father's 
house,  and  goes  into  a  far  country  and  wastes  its  substance  in  sceptical 
babbling ;  but  ere  long  it  tires  of  its  husks  and  its  exile,  and  growing 
wiser  and  more  reflective,  it  comes  back  and  asks  to  be  received  "  as  a 
hired  servant"  of  the  God  of  knowledge ;  and  the  God  of  knowledge, 
honoring  a  science  which  honors  him,  puts  upon  it  the  tokens  of  a 
father's  love,  and  permits  it  to  minister  before  him.  And  though  a 
surly  scepticism,  like  an  "  elder  son,"  shall  become  angry,  and  refuse 
to  go  into  the  house  of  wisdom,  yet  neither  the  taunts  of  infidelity  nor 
the  scoffs  of  the  profane  shall  hush  one  note  of  that  song  of  gladpess 
which  religion  shall  yet  sing  over  every  returning  science  as  it  comes 
21* 


24(3          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

back  to  its  father's  house  : — "  This  my  son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again 
was  lost  and  is  found." 

And  what  a  beautiful  ministry  will  that  be,  when  the  great  science8 
of  earth  shall  come  like  the  twelve  Apostles  of  nature,  to  worship  and 
kneel  before  him  "  in  whom  are  hid  all  the  treasures  of  wisdom  and 
knowledge  \"  For  come  they  assuredly  will.  Nothing  is  more  clearly 
discerned  by  the  observant  eye  than  the  fact  that,  every  step  which 
science  takes  in  advance,  is  a  step  towards  revelation ;  and  this  must 
of  necessity  be  so ;  for  as  science  is  but  knowledge,  as  all  human  know- 
ledge is  confined  to  God's  works,  so  must  a  deeper  knowledge  of  God's 
works  become  more  accordant  with  God's  words,  for  they  have  one 
author, — the  God  of  truth.  It  is  only  a  shallow  science,  that  babbles 
because  it  is  shallow,  that  talks  with  braggart  tongue  against  the  Bible. 
It  is  only  a  vain  philosophy,  puffed  up  with  its  own  windiness,  that 
rails  at  the  religion  of  Jesus.  It  is  only  the  would-be  wise  men,  with 
a  smattering  of  scientific  terms  upon  their  lips,  and  real  ignorance  in 
their  minds,  who  lift  up  their  vaunting  voice  in  the  exclamation  of  a 
heathen  king,  "  Who  is  the  Lord  that  I  should  serve  him  ;  I  know  not 
the  Lord,  neither  will  I  obey  his  voice." 

From  " Sermon  on  the  Religious  Teachings  of  Medical  Science" 


MAN  JUSTIFIED. 

MARTIN  LUTHER. 

HERE  again  comes  forth  reason,  our  reverend  mistress,  seeming  to  be 
marvellously  wise,  but  who  indeed  is  unwise  and  blind,  gainsaying  her 
God,  and  reproving  Him  of  lying;  being  furnished  with  her  follies  and 
feeble  honor,  to  wit,  the  light  of  nature,  free  will,  the  strength  of 
nature ;  also  with  the  books  of  the  heathen  and  the  doctrines  of  men, 
contending  that  the  works  of  a  man  not  justified,  are  good  works,  and 
not  like  those  of  Cain,  yea,  and  so  good  that  he  that  worketh  them  is 
justified  by  them ;  that  God  will  have  respect,  first  to  the  works,  then 
to  the  worker.  Such  doctrine  now  bears  the  sway  everywhere  in 
schools,  colleges,  monasteries  wherein  no  other  saints  than  Cain  was, 
have  rule  and  authority.  Now  from  this  error  comes  another :  they 
which  attribute  so  much  to  works,  and  do  not  accordingly  esteem  the 
worker,  and  sound  justification,  go  so  far  that  they  ascribe  all  merit 
and  righteousness  to  works  done  before  justification,  making  no  account 
of  faith,  alleging  that  which  James  saith,  that  without  works  faith  is 
dead.  This  sentence  of  the  Apostle  they  do  not  rightly  understand ; 
making  but  little  account  of  faith,  they  always  stick  to  works,  whereby 
they  think  to  merit  exceedingly,  and  are  persuaded  that  for  their  work's 
sake  they  shall  obtain  the  favor  of  God :  by  this  means  they  continually 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PEOSE.  247 

disagree  with  God,  showing  themselves  to  be  the  posterity  of  Cain. 
God  hath  respect  unto  man,  these  unto  the  works  of  man  ;  God  alloweth 
the  work  for  the  sake  of  him  that  worketh,  these  require  that  for  the 
work's  sake  the  worker  may  be  crowned. 


SAFETY  OF   GOD'S   CHILDREN. 

MELANCTHON. 

OUR  pains  are  best  assuaged  when  something  good  and  beneficial, 
especially  some  help  toward  a  happy  issue,  presents  itself.  All  other 
topics  of  consolation,  such  as  men  borrow  from  the  unavoidableness  of 
suffering,  and  the  examples  of  others,  bring  us  no  great  alleviation. 
But  the  Son  of  God,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  was  crucified  for  us 
and  raised  again,  and  now  sits  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father,  offers 
us  help  and  deliverance,  and  has  manifested  this  disposition  in  many 
declarations.  I  "will  now  speak  of  the  words,  "  No  man  shall  pluck 
My  sheep  out  of  My  hands."  This  expression  has  often  raised  me  up 
out  of  the  deepest  sorrow,  and  drawn  me,  as  it  were,  out  of  hell." 

The  wisest  men  in  all  times  have  bewailed  the  great  amount  of 
human  misery  which  we  see  with  our  eyes  before  we  pass  into  eternity 
— diseases,  death,  want,  our  own  errors  by  which  we  bring  harm  and 
punishment  on  ourselves,  hostile  men,  unfaithfulness  on  the  part  of 
those  with  whom  we  are  closely  connected,  banishment,  abuse,  deser- 
tion, miserable  children,  public  and  domestic  strife,  wars,  murder,  and 
devastation.  And  since  such  things  appear  to  befall  good  and  bad 
without  distinction,  many  wise  men  have  inquired  whether  there  were 
any  Providence,  or  whether  accident  brings  everything  to  pass  inde- 
pendently of  a  Divine  purpose.  But  we  in  the  Church  know  that  the 
first  and  principal  cause  of  human  woe  is  this,  that  on  account  of  sin 
man  is  made  subject  to  death  and  other  calamity,  which  is  so  much 
more  vehement  in  the  Church,  because  the  devil,  from  hatred  toward 
God,  makes  fearful  assaults  on  the  Church  and  strives  to  destroy  it 
utterly.  Therefore  it  is  written,  "  I  will  put  enmity  between  the 
serpent  and  the  seed  of  the  woman."  And  Peter  says,  "  Your  adver- 
sary, the  devil,  goeth  about  as  a  roaring  lion  and  seeketh  whom  he  may 
devour." 


HEAVENLY   GLORY.   ' 

A.  CARSON. 

SPEAK,  ye  thrones  of  this  world,  tell  us  the  glory  of  your  dignity. 
Is  it  comparable  to  that  of  the  meanest  saint  in  heaven  ?     Speak  ye  of 


248          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

being  born  of  the  mighty  of  many  generations  ?  No  more  ;  the  Chris- 
tian is  a  son  and  heir  of  God.  Boast  ye  of  your  vast  dominions  and 
the  power  of  your  empires?  Be  silent;  the  Christian  is  to  reign  with 
Christ  over  all  worlds. 

Ye  conquerors,  come  forward  with  all  your  dazzling  glories,  that  we 
may  view  your  honors  in  contrast  with  those  of  the  Christian.  You 
have  triumphed,  and  now  inherit  a  deathless  name.  The  history  of  the 
nations  is  the  record  of  your  exploits  ;  the  children  of  all  countries  are 
familiar  with  your  names ;  learning,  and  genius,  and  power  unite  in 
raising  your  temples,  and  burning  incense  on  your  altars.  And  what 
can  the  imagination  conceive  more  glorious  on  earth  ?  Thrones  and 
kingdoms  could  not  purchase  the  glory  of  Wellington.  Illustrious 
man !  When  we  speak  of  worldly  glory,  thou  staudest  at  the  head  of 
the  human  race.  Compared  with  thine,  the  glory  of  kings  is  but  a 
vulgar  glory.  Who  would  not  rather  enjoy  the  glories  of  thy  name 
than  sway  the  most  powerful  sceptre  in  the  world  ?  Every  age  pro- 
duces a  multitude  of  kings  ;  but  ages  pass  away  without  conferring  thy 
fame  on  an  individual  of  the  human  race.  Yet  all  this  honor  is  fading  ; 
the  glory  of  the  most  obscure  of  the  children  of  God  is  infinitely  to  be 
preferred.  The  Christian  conqueror  is  to  sit  down  on  the  throne  of 
Christ,  as  He  has  conquered  and  sat  down  upon  the  throne  of  His 
Father. 


THE   FEW  CHOSEN. 

JOHN  BAPTIST  MASSILLON. 

FOLLOW,  from  age  to  age,  the  history  of  the  just;  and  see  if  Lot  con- 
formed himself  to  the  habits  of  Sodom,  or  if  nothing  distinguished  him 
from  the  other  inhabitants ;  if  Abraham  lived  like  the  rest  of  his  age ; 
if  Job  resembled  the  other  princes  of  his  nation ;  if  Esther  conducted 
herself,  in  the  court  of  Ahasuerus,  like  the  other  women  of  that  prince  j 
if  many  widows  in  Israel  resembled  Judith ;  if,  among  the  children  of 
the  captivity,  it  is  not  said  of  Tobias  alone  that  he  copied  not  the  con- 
duct of  his  brethren,  and  that  he.  even  fled  from  the  danger  of  their 
commerce  and  society.  See,  if  in  those  happy  ages,  when  Christians 
were  all  saints,  they  did  not  shine  like  stars  in  the  midst  of  the  cor- 
rupted nations ;  and  if  they  served  not  as  a  spectacle  to  angels  and 
men,  by  the  singularity  of  their  lives  and  manners.  If  the  pagans  did 
not  reproach  them  for  their  retirement,  and  shunning  of  all  public 
theatres,  places,  and  pleasures.  If  they  did  not  complain  that  the 
Christians  affected  to  distinguish  themselves  in  everything  from  their 
fellow-citizens;  to  form  a  separate  people  in  the  midstrof  the  people; 
to  have  their  particular  laws  and  customs ;  and  if  a  man  from  their 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  249 

side  embraced  the  party  of  the  Christians,  they  did  not  consider  him  as 
for  ever  lost  to  their  pleasures,  assemblies,  and  customs.  In  a  word, 
see,  if  in  all  ages  the  saints  whose  lives  and  actions  have  been  trans- 
mitted down  to  us,  have  resembled  the  rest  of  mankind. 


THE   KING'S  POWER. 

JOHN  KNOX. 

As  the  skilful  mariner  (being  master),  having  his  ship  tossed  with 
a  vehement  tempest,  and  contrary  winds,  is  compelled  oft  to  traverse, 
lest  that,  either  by  too  much  resisting  to  the  violence  of  the  waves,  his 
vessel  might  be  overwhelmed ;  or  by  too  much  liberty  granted,  might 
£e  carried  whither  the  fury  of  the  tempest  would,  so  that  his  ship 
should  be  driven  upon  the  shore,  and  make  shipwreck ;  even  so  doth 
our  prophet  Isaiah  in  this  text,  which  now  you  have  heard  read.  For 
he,  foreseeing  the  great  desolation  that  was  decreed  in  the  council  of 
the  Eternal,  against  Jerusalem  and  Judah,  namely,  that  the  whole 
people  that  bare  the  name  of  God  should  be  dispersed ;  that  the  holy 
city  should  be  destroyed ;  the  temple  wherein  was  the  ark  of  the  cove- 
nant, and  where  God  had  promised  to  give  His  own  presence,  should 
be  burned  with  fire;  and  the  king  taken,  his  sons  in  his  own  presence 
murdered,  his  own  eyes  immediately  after  be  put  out;  the  nobility, 
some  cruelly  murdered,  some  shamefully  led  away  captives ;  and  finally 
the  whole  seed  of  Abraham  rased,  as  it  were,  from  the  face  of  the  earth 
— the  prophet,  I  say,  fearing  these  horrible  calamities,  doth,  as  it  were, 
sometimes  suffer  himself,  and  the  people  committed  to  his  charge,  to  be 
carried  away  with  the  violence  of  the  tempest,  without  further  resist- 
ance than  by  pouring  forth  his  and  their  dolorous  complaints  before 
the  majesty  of  God,  as  in  the  thirteenth,  seventeenth,  and  eighteenth 
verses  of  this  present  text  we  may  read.  At  other  times  he  valiantly 
resists  the  desperate  tempest,  and  pronounces  the  fearful  destruction 
of  all  such  as  trouble  the  Church  of  God ;  which  he  pronounces  that 
God  will  multiply,  even  when  it  appears  utterly  to  be  exterminated. 
But  because  there  is  no  final  rest  to  the  whole  body  till  the  Head  return 
to  judgment,  He  exhorts  the  afflicted  to  patience,  and  promises  a  visita- 
tion whereby  the  wickedness  of  the  wicked  shall  be  disclosed,  and  finally 
recompensed  in  their  own  bosoms. 


250  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


JOHN  KNOX. 

WOULDST  thou,  0  Scotland !  have  a  king  to  reign  over  thee  in  justice, 
equity,  and  mercy?  Subject  thou  thyself  to  the  Lord  thy  God,  obey 
His  commandments,  and  magnify  thou  the  Word  that  calleth  unto  thee, 
"  This  is  the  way,  walk  in  it;"  and  if  thou  wilt  not,  flatter  not  thyself; 
the  same  justice  remains  this  day  in  God  to  punish  thee,  Scotland,  and 
thee  Edinburgh  especially,  which  before  punished  the  land  of  Judah 
and  the  city  of  Jerusalem.  Every  realm  or  nation,  saith  the  prophet 
Jeremiah,  that  likewise  offendeth,  shall  be  likewise  punished,  but  if 
thou  shalt  see  impiety  placed  in  the  seat  of  justice  above  thee,  so  that 
in  the  throne  of  God  (as  Solomon  complains)  reigns  nothing  but  fraud 
and  violence,  accuse  thine  own  ingratitude  and  rebellion  against  God ; 
for  that  is  the  only  cause  why  God  takes  away  "  the  strong  man  and 
the  man  of  war,  the  judge  and  the  prophet,  the  prudent  and  the  aged, 
the  captain  and  the  honorable,  the  counsellor  and  the  cunning  artificer ; 
and  I  will  appoint,  saith  the  Lord,  children  to  be  their  princes,  and 
babes  shall  rule  over  them.  Children  are  extortioners  of  my  people, 
and  women  have  rule  over  them." 

If  these  calamities,  I  say,  apprehend  us,  so  that  we  see  nothing  but 
the  oppression  of  good  men  and  of  all  godliness,  and  that  wicked  men 
without  God  reign  above  us ;  let  us  accuse  and  condemn  ourselves,  as 
the  only  cause  of  our  own  miseries.  For  if  we  had  heard  the  voice  of 
the  Lord  our  God,  and  given  upright  obedience  unto  the  same,  God 
would  have  multiplied  our  peace,  and  would  have  rewarded  our  obedi- 
ence before  the  eyes  of  the  world.  But  now  let  us  hear  what  the  pro- 
phet saith  further  :  "  The  dead  shall  not  live,"^aith  he,  "neither  shall 
the  tyrants,  nor  the  dead  arise,  because  Thou  hast  visited  and  scattered 
them,  and  destroyed  all  their  memory." 


MOKAL   COURAGE. 

HENRY  A.  BOARDMAN,  D.D. 

MORAL  courage  dares  TO  DO  ITS  DUTY  under  all  circumstances,  and 
looks  not  to  man  but  to  God  for  its  reward.  Founded,  as  it  is,  upon 
Christian  principle,  it  is,  in  its  better  manifestations,  combined  with 
the  other  Christian  graces.  When  we  hear  of  "  courage,"  we  are  apt 
to  think  of  a  character  that  is  somewhat  harsh  and  violent ;  and  these 
attributes  may  certainly  coexist  even  with  that  admirable  endowment 
of  which  I  am  speaking.  But  they  are  so  far  from  being  of  its  essen- 
tial elements,  that  they  uniformly  detract  from  its  real  worth.  Nothing 
is  more  remarkable  in  the  conduct  of  these  three  young  Jews  than 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  251 

their  modesty.  Their  reply  to  the  king  is  a  model  of  blended  humility 
;uul  firmness.  History  presents  no  finer  model.  There  is  no  bluster- 
ing, no  ostentatious  proclamation  of  their  creed  or  their  readiness  to 
suffer  for  it,  no  effort  either  to  awaken  sympathy  or  to  insult  their 
royal  persecutor.  They  announce  in  the  simplest  words,  their  deter- 
mination not  to  comply  with  the  imperial  edict.  And  this  calm  dignity 
is  the  proper  concomitant  of  true  heroism.  "  It  vaunteth  not  itself,  and 
is  not  puffed  up."  It  is  neither  clamorous  nor  dictatorial.  It  is  the 
little  heroes  who  boast  much  ;  great  ones  can  afford  to  let  their  works 
praise  them.  The  twittering  swallow  that  skims  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  and  bolts  the  insects  for  his  evening  repast,  makes  far  more  ado 
over  his  achievements  than  the  eagle  who  seizes  a  lamb  with  his  huge 
talons  and  soars  away  with  it  on  majestic  wing  to  his  lofty  eyrie.  Both 
have  their  archetypes.  There  are  men  whose  twitter  is  as  constant  as 
the  swallow's  ;  and  over  achievements  perhaps  of  the  same  relative 
calibre ;  men  who  are  constantly  crying  with  Jehu,  "  Come  with  me, 
and  see  my  zeal  for  the  Lord."  And  there  are  others  whose  lives  are 
read,  not  in  the  jubilation  of  their  own  trumpets,  but  in  the  track  of 
light  which  marks  their  footsteps.  The  image  suggested  by  the 
spectacle  of  a  truly  great  mind  contending  with  difficulties  in  the  meek 
and  lofty  spirit  of  these  Jews,  is  that  of  a  massive  and  polished  ma- 
chine, which  moves  with  tranquil  dignity  and  strength,  unimpeded  by 
obstacles,  and  never  swerving  from  its  prescribed  sphere. 

From  "  Sermon  before  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Asso.  of  Philadelphia" 


THE   INFLUENCE    OF  LITERATURE. 

ALONZO  POTTER,,  D.  D. 

OUR  literature  is  wielding  a  mighty  power  alike  over  the  many  and 
over  the  few.  It  penetrates  everywhere,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
press,  and  of  popular  education ;  and  it  speaks  with  a  directness  and 
force  which  have  rarely  been  surpassed.  It  deals  too  with  the  most 
momentous  social  and  political  problems,  and  discusses  them  often 
with  a  reckless  and  ignorant  audacity.  Let  us  at  the  same  time 
acknowledge,  that,  in  its  better  forms,  it  breathes  a  spirit  of  more 
genial  humanity,  and  manifests  a  truer  reverence  for  the  moral  and 
spiritual  capabilities  of  our  race,  than  it  once  did.  Even  its  poetry 
and  fiction  now  plead  for  social  amelioration.  Its  daily  labors  send 
light  into  the  dark  places  of  crime  and  immorality,  and  it  causes  its 
voice  to  be  heard  as  it  cries  aloud  in  behalf  of  the  poor  and  down-trod- 
den. Would  that  we  could  see  in  it  a  due  appreciation  of  the  origin 
and  causes  of  those  ills  under  which  mankind  still  groan.  Would 
that  it  dealt  more  wisely  and  anxiously  with  the  reconstruction  of 
institutions  on  which  it  draws  a  displeasure  that  may  prove  simply 


252          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

destructive ;  that  it  probed  with  searching  hand  the  great  spiritual 
disease  that  affects  our  whole  race;  and  that  it  saw  with  earnest  heart 
and  taught  with  impressive  power,  the  utter  insufficiency  of  all  social 
palliatives  and  all  political  reforms,  which  do  not  include  as  their 
ground  and  ultimate  aim,  repentance  towards  God  and  faith  in  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

From  "  Discourses,  Addresses,"  &c. 


BISHOP  WHITE. 

ALONZO  POTTER,  D.  D. 

No  monument  of  stone  or  brass  can  worthily  commemorate  the  ser- 
vices of  Bishop  White.  No  care,  however  pious  or  affectionate,  can 
guard  his  memory  or  honor  his  services  too  well.  Thanks  then  to  the 
godly  women  who  in  all  meekness,  but  with  indomitable  patience,  have 
striven  through  five  long  years  to  provide  here  a  lasting  and  most 
appropriate  memorial.  In  a  church,  the  seats  of  which  are  to  be 
always  free,  and  which  is  to  open  its  doors  alike  to  poor  and  rich,  they 
would  remember  the  destitute  and  needy,  and  they  would  remember 
him,  too,  who  through  all  his  useful  life  was  distinguished  by  devotion 
to  their  wants.  The  sick,  the  indigent,  the  vicious,  the  ignorant  and 
neglected,  the  prisoner  in  his  cell,  and  those  bereaved  from  birth  of 
the  most  important  organs  and  faculties,  ever  found  in  William  White 
a  friend  and  benefactor.  May  the  mantle  of  his  benevolence  and 
meek  wisdom  descend  on  those  who  survive  or  follow  him.  May  the 
example  of  pious  zeal  and  of  gratitude  to  his  memory,  which  our 
sisters  have  given  us,  be  gladly  imitated  ;  may  we  take  shame  to  our- 
selves  that  this  good  work  has  been  so  long  delayed,  and  may  we 
resolve — would  that  this  resolution  could  be  adopted  by  every  house- 
hold in  our  communion  in  this  city, — may  we  resolve  that  we  will  each 
of  us  bear  some  part,  however  humble,  in  its  early  consummation* 

From  "  Discourses,  Addresses,"  &c. 


ALONZO  POTTER,  D.D. 

THAT  trust  in  God,  that  simple  love  of  Jesus  and  of  those  for  whom 
he  died,  which  prompted  William  Penn  to  come  out  to  this  new  land, 
that  he  might  make  what  he  calls  "  the  holy  experiment,"  setting  "  an 
example  to  the  nations  of  a  just  and  righteous  government,"  that 
spirit  of  true  and  universal  brotherhood  which  drew  from  him,  as  he 
stood  unarmed  and  undefended  under  the  great  elm  at  Shakamaxon, 
and  saw,  "  as  far  as  his  eyes  could  carry,"  the  painted  and  plumed 
children  of  the  forest  gazing  upon  him  as  a  new  and  strange  ruler; 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  253 

that  love  to  God  and  man,  which  then  impelled  his  great  heart  to  say 
to  them,  "  I  will  not  call  you  brothers  or  children,  but  you  shall  be  to 
me  and  mine  as  half  of  the  same  body  ;"  which  two  years  later,  when 
he  left  for  England,  prompted  him  to  send  to  this  city  of  brotherly 
love,  which  he  had  founded,  the  message,  "  And  thou,  Philadelphia, 
virgin  of  the  province,  my  soul  prays  for  thee,  that  faithful  to  the  God 
of  thy  mercies  in  the  life  of  righteousness,  thou  mayest  be  preserved 
unto  the  end :" — And  again,  when  he  wrote  replying  to  the  charge, 
that  he  had  manifested,  while  here,  restless  ambition  and  lust  of  gain, 
and  made  this  memorable  prediction:  "If  friends  here  (i.  e.  in  Penn- 
sylvania) keep  to  God,  and  in  the  justice,  mercy,  equity,  and  fear  of 
the  Lord,  their  enemies  will  be  their  footstool ;  if  not,  their  heirs  and 
my  heirs  too,  will  lose  all."  Brethren  !  Has  our  course  as  a  people, 
been  thus  loyal  to  God  ?  Has  it  been  true  to  this,  our  beginning — 
faithful  to  justice,  mercy,  and  the  fear  of  the  Lord  ?  If  not,  we  may 
plume  ourselves  upon  our  wealth  and  enterprise,  upon  our  far-reaching 
domain,  upon  our  achievements  in  arts  or  in  arms ;  but  we  should 
tremble,  when  we  remember  with  whom,  as  a  nation,  we  are  to  reckon. 
We  should  tremble,  when  we  consider  that  his  retribution  is  unerring 
for  nations  as  for  individuals,  and  that,  while  in  the  case  of  indi- 
viduals, just  punishment  may  wait  to  another  life,  in  the  case  of 

nations  it  must  fall  here. 

From  "  Discourses,  Addresses,"  &c. 


LIFE   IS   AN  EDUCATION. 

F.  W.  ROBERTSON. 

LIFE  is  an  education.  The  object  for  which  you  educate  your  son  is 
to  give  him  strength  of  purpose,  self-command,  discipline  of  mental 
energies ;  but  you  do  not  reveal  to  your  son  this  aim  of  his  education ; 
you  tell  him  of  his  place  in  his  class,  of  the  prizes  at  the  end  of  the 
year,  of  the  honors  to  be  given  at  college. 

These  are  not  the  true  incentives  to  knowledge  ;  such  incentives  are 
not  the  highest — they  are  even  mean,  and  partially  injurious  ;  yet 
these  mean  incentives  stimulate  and  lead  on,  from  day  to  day,  and 
from  year  to  year,  by  a  process  the  principle  of  which  the  boy.  himself 
is  not  aware  of.  So  does  God  lead  on,  through  life's  unsatisfying  and 
false  reward,  ever  educating:  Canaan  first;  then  the  hope  of  a  Re- 
deemer ;  then  the  millennial  glory.  Now,  what  is  remarkable  in  this 
is,  that  the  delusion  continued  to  the  last ;  they  all  died  in  faith,  not 
having  received  the  promises ;  all  were  hoping  up  to  the  very  last,  and 
all  died  in  faith — not  in  realization  ;  for  thus  God  has  constituted  the 
human  heart.  It  never  will  be  believed  that  this  world  is  unreal. 
God  has  mercifully  so  arranged  it  that  the  idea  of  delusion  is  incredible. 
22 


254  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

You  may  tell  the  boy  or  girl,  as  you  will,  that  life  is  a  disappointment; 
yet,  however  you  may  persuade  them  to  adopt  your  tone,  and  catch  the 
language  of  your  sentiment,  they  are  both  looking  forward  to  some 
bright  distant  hope — the  rapture  of  the  next  vacation,  or  the  unknown 
joys  of  the  next  season — and  throwing  into  it  an  energy  of  expectation 
which  a  whole  eternity  is  only  worth.  You  may  tell  the  man  who  has 
received  the  heart-shock,  from  which  in  this  world  he  will  not  recover, 
that  life  has  nothing  left ;  yet  the  stubborn  heart  still  hopes  on,  ever 
near  the  prize, — "  wealthiest  when  most  undone;"  he  has  reaped  the 
whirlwind,  but  he  will  go  on  still,  till  life  is  over,  sowing  the  wind. 


THE   SOPHISTRY   OF   INFIDELS. 

ROBERT  HALL. 

THE  infidels  of  the  present  day  are  the  first  sophists  who  have 
presumed  to  innovate  in  the  very  substance  of  morals.  The  disputes  on 
moral  questions  hitherto  agitated  among  philosophers  have  respected 
the  grounds  of  duty,  not  the  nature  of  duty  itself;  or  they  have  been 
merely  metaphysical,  and  related  to  the  history  of  moral  sentiments  in 
the  mind,  the  sources  and  principles  from  which  they  were  most  easily 
deduced ;  they  never  turned  on  the  quality  of  those  dispositions  and 
actions  which  were  to  be  denominated  virtuous.  In  the  firm  persuasion 
that  the  love  and  fear  of  the  Supreme  Being,  the  sacred  observation  of 
promises  and  oaths,  reverence  to  magistrates,  obedience  to  parents, 
gratitude  to  benefactors,  conjugal  fidelity,  and  parental  tenderness  were 
primary  virtues,  and  the  chief  support  of  every  commonwealth,  they 
were  unanimous.  The  curse  denounced  upon  such  as  remove  ancient 
landmarks,  upon  those  who  call  good  evil,  and  evil  good,  put  light  for 
darkness,  and  darkness  for  light,  who  employ  their  faculties  to  subvert 
the  eternal  distinctions  of  right  and  wrong,  and  thus  to  poison  the 
streams  of  virtue  at  their  source,  falls  with  accumulated  weight  on  the 
advocates  of  modern  infidelity,  and  on  them  alone. 


RIGHTEOUSNESS   EXALTETH   A   NATION. 

W.  B.  STEVENS,  D.  D. 

YOUNG  men,  God  has  given  you  a  good  land,  and  has  laid  upon  you 
responsibilities  in  connection  with  this  land  at  once  vast  and  solemn. 
The  future  of  this  land  will  be  what  the  young  men  of  this  land  shall 
make  it. 

The  Psalmist,  in  one  of  his  magnificent  passages,  calls  upon  the 
pious  Israelite  to  "  walk  about  Zion  and  go  round  about  her,  tell  the 
towers  thereof,  mark  ye  well  her  bulwarks,  consider  her  palaces,  that 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  255 

ye  may  tell  it  to  the  generation  following,  for  this  God  is  our  God  for 
ever  and  ever."  So,  young  men,  I  call  upon  you  to  walk  about  our 
American  Zion  and  go  round  about  her,  tell  the  towers  of  her  strength, 
mark  the  bulwarks  which  support  her  freedom,  consider  the  palaces  of 
her  glory:  and  were  I  called  upon,  on  this  day  of  our  nation's  Inde- 
pendence, to  indicate  the  towers,  the  bulwarks,  tha.  palaces  which 
give  to  our  land  strength,  beauty,  glory,  I  should  not  point  to  our  pub- 
lic buildings,  magnificent  as  they  are  ;  nor  to  our  army  and  navy,  gal- 
lant and  covered  with  laurels  as  they  are ;  nor  to  our  territorial  vast- 
ness,  embracing  as  it  does  almost  a  continent ;  nor  to  our  commerce, 
our  manufactures,  our  railroads,  marvellous  as  these  are, — but  I  would 
point  you  to  the  open  Bible,  the  open  door  of  the  church,  the  open  door 
of  the  school-house,  the  sacred  ministry,  the  ordinances  of  grace,  the 
wonderful  power  of  the  religious  press,  the  banded  associations  of  reli- 
gion and  benevolence,  the  unfettered  right  of  conscience,  and  the 
reverence  which,  as  a  people,  we  pay  to  the  Christian  Sabbath ;  these 
are  the  towers,  the  bulwarks,  the  palaces  which  confer  on  us  a  strength, 
a  glory,  and  an  influence  such  as  God  has  given  to  no  other  nation 
under  the  whole  heaven.  Would  you  preserve  and  exalt  this  nation, 
send  abroad  the  Bible,  build  up  the  church  of  the  living  God,  infuse 
the  principles  of  divine  truth  into  every  school,  academy,  and  univer- 
sity, sustain  the  institution  of  the  ministry,  scatter  the  products  of  your 
religious  press  as  so  many  leaves  from  the  tree  of  life,  conduct  with 
vigor  the  great  scjiemes  of  associated  benevolence,  preserve  intact  the 
rights  of  conscience,  and  keep  holy  the  Sabbath  day.  Do  these  things, 
and  our  nation  will  have  a  righteous  government,  a  righteous  system 
of  education,  a  righteous  judiciary,  a  righteous  literature,  a  righteous 
commerce,  and  in  the  individual  man,  the  family  group,  the  social 
circle,  the  civic  community,  the  state,  and  the  nation,  there  will  prevail 
truth,  to  the  exclusion  of  falsehood  and  error ;  peace,  to  the  exclusion 
of  revenge,  bloodshed,  and  war ;  love,  to  the  exclusion  of  personal  and 
national  animosities  and  strifes  ;  holiness,  to  the  exclusion  of  every  sin  ; 
justice,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  oppression ;  the  Christian  graces,  Faith, 
Hope,  and  Charity,  more  beautiful  than  the  fabled  graces  of  classic 
mythology ;  and  the  Christian  virtues,  more  lovely  than  the  muses  of 
Grecian  song,  would  adorn  each  heart,  beautify  each  face,  beam  out 
from  each  eye,  Paradise  would  almost  be  restored  to  earth,  and  God 
would  again  come  down  in  the  cool  of  the  day  to  walk  with  redeemed 
and  sanctified  men. 

From  "  The  True  Glory  of  a  Nation." 


256  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


THE    GLORY   OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

JOHN  MCLAURIN. 

CHRISTIANITY  communicates  a  glory  to  all  other  objects,  according 
as  they  have  any  relation  to  it.  It  adorns  the  universe ;  it  gives  a 
lustre  to  nature,  and  to  Providence;  it  is  the  greatest  glory  of  this 
lower  world,  that  its  Creator  was  for  awhile  its  inhabitant.  A  poor 
landlord  thinks  it  a  lasting  honor  to  his  cottage,  that  he  has  once 
lodged  a  prince  or  emperor.  With  how  much  more  reason  may  our 
poor  cottage,  this  earth,  be  proud  of  it,  that  the  Lord  of  glory  was  its 
tenant  from  His  birth  to  His  death !  yea,  that  He  rejoiced  in  the  habit- 
able parts  of  it  before  it  had  a  beginning,  even  from  everlasting ! 

It  is  the  glory  of  the  world  that  He  who  formed  it,  dwelt  on  it ;  of 
the  air,  that  He  breathed  in  it ;  of  the  sun,  that  it  shone  on  Him  ;  of 
the  ground,  that  it  bore  Him  ;  of  the  sea,  that  He  walked  on  it ;  of  the 
elements,  that  they  nourished  Him ;  of  the  waters,  that  they  refreshed 
Him ;  of  us  men,  that  He  lived  and  died  among  us,  yea,  that  He  lived 
and  died  for  us ;  that  he  assumed  our  flesh  and  blood,  and  carried  it 
to  the  highest  heavens,  where  it  shines  as  the  eternal  ornament  and 
wonder  of  the  creation  of  God.  It  gives  also  a  lustre  to  Providence. 
It  is  the  chief  event  that  adorns  the  records  of  time,  and  enlivens  the 
history  of  the  universe.  It  is  the  glory  of  the  various  great  lines  of 
Providence,  that  they  point  at  this  as  their  centre  ;  that  they  prepared 
the  way  for  its  coming ;  that  after  its  coming  they  are  subservient  to 
the  ends  of  it,  though  in  a  way  indeed  to  us  at  present  mysterious  and 
unsearchable.  Thus  we  know  that  they  either  fulfil  the  promises  of 
the  crucified  Jesus,  or  His  threatenings  ;  and  show  either  the  happiness 
of  receiving  Him,  or  the  misery  of  rejecting  Him. 


THE   HOUR  AND  THE   EVENT  AT  ALL    TIME. 

HUGH  BLAIR. 

WHAT  magnanimity  in  all  His  words  and  actions  on  this  great  occa- 
sion !  The  court  of  Herod,  the  judgment-hall  of  Pilate,  the  hill  of 
Calvary,  were  so  many  theatres  prepared  for  His  displaying  all  the 
virtues  of  a  constant  and  patient  mind.  When  led  forth  to  suffer,  the 
first  voice  which  we  hear  from  Him  is  a  generous  lamentation  over  the 
fate  of  His  unfortunate  though  guilty  country;  and  to  the  last  moment 
of  His  life  we  behold  him  in  possession  of  the  same  gentle  and  benevo- 
lent spirit.  No  upbraiding,  no  complaining  expression  escaped  from 
His  lips  during  the  long  and  painful  approaches  of  a  cruel  death.  He 
betrayed  no  symptom  of  a  weak  or  a  vulgar,  of  a  discomposed  or  impa- 
tient mind.  With  the  utmost  attention  of  filial  tenderness  He  com- 
mitted His  aged  mother  to  the  care  of  His  beloved  disciple.  With  all 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  257 

the  dignity  of  a  sovereign,  He  conferred  pardon  on  a  penitent  fellow- 
sufferer.  With  a  greatness  of  mind  beyond  example,  He  spent  His 
last  moments  in  apologies  and  prayers  for  those  who  were  shedding 
His  blood. 

By  wonders  in  heaven,  and  wonders  on  earth,  was  this  hour  distin- 
guished. All  nature  seemed  to  feel  it ;  and  the  dead  and  the  living 
bore  witness  of  its  importance.  The  veil  of  the  temple  was  rent  in 
twain.  The  earth  shook.  There  was  darkness  over  all  the  land.  The 
graves  were  opened,  and  "  many  who  slept  arose,  and  went  into  the 
holy  city."  Nor  were  these  the  only  prodigies  of  this  awful  hour. 
The  most  hardened  hearts  were  subdued  and  changed.  The  judge 
who,  in  order  to  gratify  the  multitude,  passed  sentence  against  Him, 
publicly  attested  His  innocence.  The  Roman  centurion  who  presided 
at  the  execution,  "glorified  God,"  and  acknowledged  the  Sufferer  to  be 
more  than  man.  "  After  he  saw  the  things  which  had  passed,  he  said, 
Certainly  this  was  a  righteous  person  :  truly  this  was  the  Son  of  God." 
The  Jewish  malefactor  who  was  crucified  with  Him  addressed  Him  as 
a  King,  and  implored  His  favor.  Even  the  crowd  of  insensible  spec- 
tators, who  had  come  forth  as  to  a  common  spectacle,  and  who  began 
with  clamors  and  insults,  "  returned  home  smiting  their  breasts." 
Look  back  on  the  heroes,  the  philosophers,  the  legislators  of  old.  View 
them  in  their  last  moments.  Recall  every  circumstance  which  distin- 
guished their  departure  from  the  world.  Where  can  you  find  such  an 
assemblage  of  high  virtues,  and  of  great  events,  as  concurred  at  the 
death  of  Christ  ?  Where  so  many  testimonials  given  to  the  dignity  of 
the  dying  person  by  earth  and  by  heaven  ? 


THE   EXPULSIVE   POWER   OF   A  NEW   AFFECTION. 

THOMAS  CHALMERS. 

CONCEIVE  a  man  to  be  standing  on  the  margin  of  this  green  world, 
and  that,  when  he  looked  toward  it,  he  saw  abundance  smiling  upon 
every  field,  and  all  the  blessings  which  earth  can  afford,  scattered  in 
profusion  throughout  every  family,  and  the  light  of  the  sun  sweetly 
resting  upon  all  the  pleasant  habitations,  and  the  joys  of  human  com- 
panionship brightening  many  a  happy  cifcle  of  society — conceive  this 
to  be  the  general  character  of  the  scene  upon  one  side  of  his  contem- 
plation, and  that  on  the  other,  beyond  the  verge  of  the  goodly  planet 
on  which  he  was  situated,  he  could  descry  nothing  but  a  dark  and 
fathomless  unknown.  Think  you  that  he  would  bid  a  voluntary  adieu 
to  all  the  brightness  and  all  the  beauty  that  were  before  him  upon 
earth,  and  commit  himself  to  the  frightful  solitude  away  from  it? 
Would  he  leave  its  peopled  dwelling-places,  and  become  a  solitary 
22*  R 


258          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

wanderer  through  the  fields  of  nonentity?  If  space  offered  him  nothing 
but  a  wilderness,  would  he  for  it  abandon  the  home-bred  scenes  of  life 
and  of  cheerfulness  that  lay  so  near,  and  exerted  such  a  power  of 
urgency  to  detain  him  ?  Would  not  he  cling  to  the  regions  of  sense, 
and  of  life,  and  of  society  ? — and  shrinking  away  from  the  desolation 
that  was  beyond  it,  would  not  he  be  glad  to  keep  his  firm  footing  on 
the  territory  of  this  world,  and  to  take  shelter  under  the  silver  canopy 
that  was  stretched  over  it  ? 

But  if,  during  the  time  of  his  contemplation,  some  happy  island  of 
the  blest  had  floated  by,  and  there  had  burst  upon  his  senses  the  light 
of  its  surpassing  glories,  and  its  sounds  of  sweeter  melody,  and  he 
clearly  saw  that  there  a  purer  beauty  rested  upon  every  field,  and  a 
more  heartfelt  joy  spread  itself  among  all  the  families,  and  he  could 
discern  there  a  peace,  and  a  piety,  and  a  benevolence  which  put  a 
moral  gladness  into  every  bosom,  and  united  the  whole  society  in  one 
rejoicing  sympathy  with  each  other,  and  with  the  beneficent  Father  of 
them  all.  Could  he  further  see  that  pain  and  mortality  were  there 
unknown,  and  above  all,  that  signals  of  welcome  were  hung  out,  and 
an  avenue  of  communication  was  made  for  him — perceive  you  not  that 
what  was  before  the  wilderness,  would  become  the  land  of  invita- 
tion, and  that  now  the  world  would  be  the  wilderness  ?  What  unpeo- 
pled space  could  not  do,  can  be  done  by  space  teeming  with  beatific 
scenes,  and  beatific  society.  And  let  the  existing  tendencies  of  the 
heart  be  what  they  may  to  the  scene  that  is  near  and  visible  around 
us,  still  if  another  stood  revealed  to  the  prospect  of  man,  either  through 
the  channel  of  faith,  or  through  the  channel  of  his  senses — then,  with- 
out violence  done  to  the  constitution  of  his  moral  nature,  may  he  die 
unto  the  present  world,  and  live  to  the  lovelier  world  that  stands  in  the 
distance  away  from  it. 


THE   VOICE   OF   SCKIPTUBE. 

EDWAKD  IRVING. 

On'.^if  books  had  but  tongues  to  speak  their  wrongs,  then  might 
this  Book  well  exclaim — Hear,  0  heavens  !  and  give  ear,  0  earth !  I 
came  from  the  love  and  embrace  of  God,  and  mute  Nature,  to  whom  I 
brought  no  boon,  did  me  rightful  homage.  To  men  I  come,  and  my 
words  were  to  the  children  of  men.  I  disclosed  to  you  the  mysteries 
of  hereafter,  and  the  secrets  of  the  throne  of  God.  I  set  open  to  you 
the  gates  of  salvation,  and  the  way  of  eternal  life,  hitherto  unknown. 
Nothing  in  heaven  did  I  withhold  from  your  hope  and  ambition  ;  and 
upon  your  earthly  lot  I  poured  the  full  horn  of  Divine  providence  and 
consolation.  But  ye  requited  me  with  no  welcome,  ye  held  no  festivity 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  259 

on  my  arrival :  ye  sequester  me  from  happiness  and  heroism,  closeting 
me  with  sickness  and  infirmity :  ye  make  not  of  me,  nor  use  me  for, 
your  guide  to  wisdom  and  prudence,  put  me  into  a  place  in  your  last 
of  duties,  and  withdraw  me  to  a  mere  corner  of  your  time ;  and  most 
of  ye  set  me  at  naught  and  utterly  disregard  me.  I  come,  the  fulness 
of  the  knowledge  of  God  ;  angels  delighted  in  my  company,  and  desired 
to  dive  into  my  secrets.  But  ye,  mortals,  place  masters  over  me,  sub- 
jecting me  to  the  discipline  and  dogmatism  of  men,  and  tutoring  me  in 
your  schools  of  learning.  I  came  not  to  be  silent  in  your  dwellings, 
but  to  speak  welfare  to  you  and  to  your  children.  I  came  to  rule,  and 
my  throne  to  set  up  in  the  hearts  of  men.  Mine  ancient  residence 
was  the  bosom  of  God  ;  no  residence  will  I  have  but  the  soul  of  an 
immortal ;  and  if  you  had  entertained  me,  I  should  have  possessed  you 
of  the  peace  which  I  had  with  God,  "when  I  was  with  Him  and  was 
daily  His  delight,  rejoicing  always  before  Him.  Because  I  have  called 
you  and  ye  have  refused,  I  have  stretched  out  my  hand  and  no  man 
regarded ;  but  ye  have  set  at  naught  all  my  counsel,  and  would  none 
of  my  reproof;  I  also  will  laugh  at  your  calamity,  and  mock  when  your 
fear  cometh  as  desolation,  and  your  destruction  cometh  as  a  whirlwind, 
when  distress  and  anguish  cometh  upon  you.  Then  shall  they  cry 
upon  me,  but  I  will  not  answer ;  they  shall  seek  me  early,  but  they 
shall  not  find  me." 


THE   VOICE    OF   SCKIPTUKE — Continued. 

EDWARD  IRVING. 

Go  visit  a  desolate  widow  with  consolation,  and  help,  and  fatherhood 
of  her  orphan  children — do  it  again  and  again,  and  your  presence,  the 
second  of  your  approaching  footstep,  the  soft  utterance  of  your  voice, 
the  very  mention  of  your  name,  shall  come  to  dilate  her  heart  with  a 
fulness  which  defies  her  tongue  to  utter,  but  speaking  by  the  tokens 
of  a  swimming  eye,  and  clasped  hands,  and  fervent  ejaculations  to 
Heaven  upon  your  head !  No  less  copious  acknowledgment  of  God, 
the  Author  of  our  well-being,  and  the  Father  of  our  better  hopes,  ought 
we  to  feel  when  His  Word  discloseth  to  us  the  excess  of  His  love. 
Though  a  veil  be  now  cast  over  the  Majesty  which  speaks,  it  is  the 
voice  of  the  Eternal  which  we  hear,  coming  in  soft  cadences  to  win  our 
favor,  yet  omnipotent  as  the  voice  of  the  thunder,  and  overpowering  as 
the  rushing  of  many  waters.  And  though  the  veil  of  the  future  inter- 
vene between  our  hand  and  the  promised  goods,  still  are  they  from 
His  lips  who  speaks  and  it  is  done,  who  commands,  and  all  things 
stand  fast.  With  no  less  emotion,  therefore,  should  this  Book  be 
opened,  than  if,  like  him  in  the  Apocalypse,  you  saw  the  voice  which 


260          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

spake ;  or,  like  him  in  the  trance,  you  were  into  the  third  heaven  trans- 
lated, company  and  communing  with  the  realities  of  glory  which  eye 
hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  nor  the  heart  of  man  conceived. 


DAVID'S  SIN". 

BISHOP  WHITE. 

IT  sometimes  happens  in  a  human  government  that,  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  its  powers,  there  is  expected  to  be  kept  in  view  some  promi- 
nent object,  connected  perhaps  with  local  interests,  or  perhaps  with  a 
certain  cast  of  national  character,  associated  in  idea  with  former  events, 
and  with  reverence  of  the  wisdom  of  former  times.  In  estimating  the 
merits  of  the  chief  ruler  of  such  a  country,  we  should  contemplate  him 
with  some  reference  to  the  peculiarities  of  his  station,  not  to  the  ex- 
cusing of  him  from  the  law  of  moral  right,  suited  to  all  persons,  and 
places,  and  times ;  but  to  the  making  of  favorable  allowances  on  the 
score  of  his  sacred  regard  to  the  principles  of  the  constitution.  In  the 
theocracy  administered  by  David,  the  highest  duty  lying  on  him  was 
the  sustaining  of  the  prerogative  of  the  Great  King  under  whose  dele- 
gated authority  .he  reigned.  In  either  of  the  cases  stated,  our  com- 
mendations of  the  ruler  in  his  public  acts  are  not  to  be  tested  exclu- 
sively by  the  rule  of  moral  right,  and  without  regard  to  the  claims  of 
official  character.  It  was  on  a  different  ground  that  he  stood  account- 
able at  the  bar  of  God. 


BELIEF   IN   GOD'S   EXISTENCE. 

JONATHAN  MAXCY. 

NEVER  be  tempted  to  disbelieve  the  existence  of  God,  when  every- 
thing around  you  proclaims  it  in  a  language  too  plain  not  to  be  under- 
stood. Never  cast  your  eyes  on  creation  without  having  your  souls 
expanded  with  this  sentiment,  "  There  is  a  God  I"  When  you  survey 
this  globe  of  earth,  with  all  its  appendages — when  you  behold  it  in- 
habited by  numberless  ranks  of  creatures,  all  moving  in  their  proper 
spheres,  all  verging  to  their  proper  ends,  all  animated  by  the  same 
great  source  of  life,  all  supported  at  the  same  great  bounteous  table ; 
when  you  behold  not  only  the  earth,  but  the  ocean  and  the  air,  swarm- 
ing with  living  creatures,  all  happy  in  their  situation — when  you  behold 
yonder  sun  darting  a  vast  blaze  of  glory  over  the  heavens,  garnishing 
mighty  worlds,  and  waking  ten  thousand  songs  of  praise — when  you 
behold  unnumbered  systems  diffused  through  vast  immensity,  clothed 
in  splendor,  and  rolling  in  majesty — when  you  behold  these  things, 
your  affections  will  rise  above  all  the  vanities  of  time,  your  full  souls 
will  struggle  with  ecstasy,  and  your  reason,  passions,  and  feelings,  all 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  261 

united,  will  rush  up  to  the  skies,  with  a  devout  acknowledgment  of  the 
wisdom,  existence,  power,  and  goodness  of  God.  Let  us  behold  Him, 
let  us  wonder,  praise,  adore.  These  things  will  make  us  happy.  They 
will  wean  us  from  vice,  and  attach  us  to  virtue. 

As  a  belief  of  the  existence  of  God  is  a  fundamental  point  of  salva- 
tion, he  who  denies  it  runs  the  greatest  conceivable  hazard.  He  resigns 
the  satisfaction  of  a  good  conscience,  quits  the  hope  of  a  happy  immor- 
tality, and  exposes  himself  to  destruction.  All  this  for  what?  for  the 
short-lived  pleasure  of  a  riotous,  dissolute  life.  How  wretched  when, 
he  finds  his  atheistical  confidence  totally  destroyed  !  Instead  of  his 
beloved  sleep  and  insensibility,  with  which  he  so  fondly  flattered  him- 
self, he  will  find  himself  still  existing  after  death,  removed  to  a  strange 
place ;  he  will  then  find  there  is  a  God,  who  will  not  suffer  his  rational 
beings  to  fall  into  annihilation  as  a  refuge  from  the  just  punishment 
of  their  crimes ;  he  will  find  himself  doomed  to  drag  on  a  wretched 
train  of  existence  in  unavailing  woe  and  lamentation.  Alas !  how 
astonished  will  he  be  to  find  himself  plunged  into  the  abyss  of  ruin 
and  desperation  !  God  forbid  that  any  of  us  should  act  so  unwisely  as 
to  disbelieve,  when  everything  around  us  proclaims  His  existence ! 


THE   GOSPEL   FOR  THE   POOR. 

JOHN  M.  MASON. 

FROM  the  remotest  antiquity  there  have  been,  in  all  civilized  nations, 
men  who  devoted  themselves  to  the  increase  of  knowledge  and  happi- 
ness. Their  speculations  were  subtile,  their  arguings  acute,  and  many 
of  their  maxims  respectable.  But  to  whom  were  their  instructions 
addressed  ?  To  casual  visitors,  to  selected  friends,  to  admiring  pupils, 
to  privileged  orders !  In  some  countries,  and  on  certain  occasions, 
when  vanity  was  to  be  gratified  by  the  acquisition  of  fame,  their  ap- 
pearances were  more  public.  For  example,  one  read  a  poem,  another 
a  history,  and  a  third  a  play,  before  the  crowd  assembled  at  the  Olympic 
games.  To  be  crowned  there,  was,  in  the  proudest  period  of  Greece, 
the  summit  of  glory  and  ambition.  But  what  did  this,  what  did  the 
mysteries  of  pagan  worship,  or  what  the  lectures  of  pagan  philosophy, 
avail  the  people  ?  Sunk  in  ignorance,  in  poverty,  in  crime,  they  lay 
neglected.  Age  succeeded  age,  and  school  to  school;  a  thousand  sects 
and  systems  rose,  flourished,  and  fell ;  but  the  degradation  of  the  multi- 
tude remained.  Not  a  beam  of  light  found  its  way  into  their  darkness, 
nor  a  drop  of  consolation  into  their  cup.  Indeed  a  plan  of  raising  them 
to  the  dignity  of  rational  enjoyment,  and  fortifying  them  against  the 
disasters  of  life,  was  not  to  be  expected :  for  as  nothing  can  exceed  the 
contempt  in  which  they  were  held  by  the  professors  of  wisdom  ;  so  any 


262          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

human  device,  however  captivating  in  theory,  would  have  been  worth- 
less in  fact.  The  most  sagacious  heathen  could  imagine  no  better 
means  of  improving  them  than  the  precepts  of  his  philosophy.  Now, 
supposing  it  to  be  ever  so  salutary,  its  benefits  must  have  been  confined 
to  a  very  few ;  the  notion  that  the  bulk  of  mankind  may  become  philo- 
sophers, being  altogether  extravagant.  They  ever  have  been,  and,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  ever  must  be,  unlearned.  Besides,  the  grovelling 
superstition  and  brutal  manners  of  the  heathen,  presented  insuperable 
obstacles.  Had  the  plan  of  their  cultivation  been  even  suggested,  espe- 
cially if  it  comprehended  the  more  abject  of  the  species,  it  would  have 
been  universally  derided,  and  would  have  merited  derision,  no  less  than 
the  dreams  of  modern  folly  about  the  perfectibility  of  man. 


THE   SOCIETY   OF   HEAVEN. 

GREGORY  T.  BEDELL. 

WHAT  a  glorious  society!  Innumerable  company  of  angels,  arch- 
angels, cherubim,  seraphim  !  Thousands  of  thousands  ministered  unto 
Him,  and  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  stood  before  Him.  This  is 
a  part  of  the  society.  The  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect;  believers 
made  perfect ;  their  labors  finished  ;  their  trials  over  ;  their  race  run  ; 
the  goal  reached;  the  prize  obtained;  the  crown  won;  the  general 
assembly  and  Church  of  the  first-born. 

What  a  glorious  society  !  Saints  who  have  served  the  Lord  during 
every  successive  period  of  the  world,  from  righteous  Abel  to  the  very 
last  of  those  who,  when  the  Lord  shall  come  a  second  time,  shall  be 
caught  up  to  meet  Him  in  the  air,  and  so  to  be  ever  with  the  Lord. 
There  is  a  degree  of  melancholy  grandeur  in  the  idea  of  a  heathen  of 
old,  who,  amid  all  the  darkness,  and  ignorance,  and  superstition  in 
which  he  lived,  could  compose  his  mind  to  death  in  the  supposition 
that,  in  the  Elysian  fields  of  his  mythology,  he  should  meet  with  Plato, 
and  with  Socrates,  and  with  Homer,  and  with  Hesiod,  and  a  host  of 
other  illustrious  worthies,  and  spend  his  eternity  with  them  in  a  philo- 
sophy refined  from  the  grossness  of  earth.  Miserable  comfort!  his 
Elysian  fields  were  fables,  not  even  cunningly  devised.  "  But  we  know 
that  if  our  earthly  house  of  this  tabernacle  were  dissolved,  we  have  a 
building  of  God,  a  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens  ;" 
and  in  those  mansions  of  eternal  glory  are  to  be  found  the  martyred 
Abel ;  that  patriarch  who  walked  with  God,  and  was  translated  with- 
out tasting  death  ;  that  father  of  the  faithful,  Abraham,  with  Isaac  and 
Jacob,  Moses,  Joshua,  prophets,  priests  and  kings,  apostles,  martyrs, 
and  innumerable  servants  of  the  Lord  less  distinguished  ;  thousands  of 
thousands,  gathered  out  of*  every  tribe,  and  kindred,  and  people,  and 
from  every  age  and  generation  of  the  world. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  263 

INFLUENCE    OF   HEAVENLY   GLIMPSES. 

II.  MELVILL. 

IT  were  a  strange  thought,  that  a  glimpse  of  heaven  will  make  one 
less  alive  to  the  afflictions  of  earth.  Shall  the  having  gazed,  though 
but  for  an  instant,  on  what  is  pure,  and  peaceable,  and  bright,  diminish 
his  sensibility  to  the  pollution  and  turmoil  of  the  scene  in  which  he 
still  dwells  ?  Shall  he,  when  he  returns  from  his  lofty  flight,  and  comes 
down  from  his  splendid  excursion,  to  engage  once  more  in  the  business 
of  probation,  and  be  again  occupied  with  keeping  under  the  body,  and 
disciplining  unruly  passions — shall  he,  think  you,  feel  less  than  before 
the  irksomeness  of  the  combat  with  corruption,  or  be  more  at  home  in 
the  wilderness  through  which  his  path  lies?  Oh,  it  is  not  the  view  of 
heaven  which  will  lighten  the  burden  laid  on  us  by  our  sinfulness.  I 
had  almost  said,  it  will  increase  that  burden.  Indeed,  it  is  not  possible 
that  a  believer  should  have  gazed  on  the  fair  spreadirigs  of  the  saint's 
home,  and  contemplated,  however  distantly,  what  God  hath  prepared 
for  him  as  a  member  of  his  Son,  and  not  have  strengthened  in  the  feel- 
ing, that  heaven  is  worth  all  his  strivings,  and  in  the  resolve,  that  he 
will  wrestle  for  its  happiness.  But  I  cannot  think  that  he  will  be 
more  at  ease  than  before  in  a  world  which  will  only  seem  drearier  by 
contrast.  I  cannot  think  that  the  having  listened  to  the  harpings  of 
angels  will  make  the  storm  and  the  discord  sound  less  offensively.  I 
cannot  think  that  because  he  has  tasted  the  fresh  waters  of  the  river 
of  life,  he  will  find  less  bitterness  in  the  wormwood  which  sin  will  yet 
infuse  into  his  cup.  I  cannot  think  that,  with  the  earnests  in  posses- 
sion, he  will  be  other  than  more  intense  in  his  longings  for  the  perfect 
fruition.  And  therefore  do  I  believe  that,  the  richer  his  anticipations 
of  heaven,  the  deeper  will  be  his  cry,  "  0  that  I  had  the  wings  of  a 
dove !  for  then  would  I  flee  away  and  be  at  rest."  So  that  an  apostle, 
and  that  apostle,  St.  Paul,  who  had  actually  trodden  the  firmament, 
and  seen  what  saints  enjoy,  and  heard  what  seraphs  sing,  was  of  all 
others  the  most  likely  to  feel  the  pressure  of  spiritual  anxieties,  and  to 
sigh  for  deliverance  ;  and  who  then  shall  wonder  at  his  using  language 
which  shows  that  he  included  himself,  and  other  true  believers,  in  his 
description  of  a  groaning  and  waiting  creation,  "  The  earnest  expecta- 
tion of  the  creature  waitoth  for  the  manifestation  of  the  sons  of  God  ?" 

From  "  Sermons." 


THE    IMPOETANT   TEUTH. 

II.  MELVILL. 

IF  there  be  a  cause  of  exultation,  a  motive  for  rejoicing,  to  a  fallen 
creature,  must  it  not  be  that  he  is  still  dear  to  his  Maker,  that  notwith- 
standing all  which  he  hath  done  to  provoke  Divine  wrath,  and  make 


264          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

condemnation  inevitable,  he  is  regarded  with  unspeakable  tenderness 
by  the  Almighty,  watched  over  with  a  solicitude,  and  provided  for  at 
a  cost,  which  could  not  be  exceeded  if  he  were  the  noblest  and  purest 
of  the  beings  that  throng  the  intelligent  universe  ?  Teach  me  this, 
and  you  teach  me  everything.  And  this  I  learn  from  Christ  crucified. 
I  learn  it  indeed  in  a  measure  from  the  sun  as  he  walks  the  firmament, 
and  warms  the  earth  into  fertility.  I  learn  it  from  the  moon,  as  she 
gathers  the  stars  into  her  train,  and  throws  over  creation  her  robe  of  soft 
light.  I  gather  it  from  the  various  operations  and  provisions  of  nature, 
from  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  from  the  capacities  of  the  soul.  But  if 
I  am  taught  by  these,  the  teaching  after  all  is  but  imperfect  and  partial : 
they  do  indeed  give  testimony  that  man  is  not  forgotten  of  God  ;  but 
the  testimony  would  be  equally  given,  were  there  the  power  of  receiving 
it,  to  the  brute  creation,  to  the  innumerable  animated  tribes  which  are 
to  perish  at  death.  It  is  not  a  testimony,  at  least  not  a  direct  testimony, 
that  we  are  cared  for  as  immortal  beings,  and  can  be  pardoned  as  sinful. 
It  is  not  a  testimony  that  He  who  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to  look  upon 
iniquity,  can  receive  into  favor  even  the  vilest  of  those  who  have 
thrown  off  allegiance,  and  manifest  such  an  exuberance  of  loving- 
kindness  towards  the  guilty,  as  will  not  leave  the  worst  case  without 
hope  and  without  succor.  Show  us  what  will  give  such  testimony  as 
this,  and  sun,  and  moon,  and  the  granaries  of  nature,  and  the  workings 
of  intellect,  will  drop,  in  comparison,  their  offi.ce  of  instructor. 

From  "  Sermons." 


CHRISTIANITY  IN  AMERICA. 

R.  J.  BRECKENRIDGE. 

ALL  the  immense  problems  on  whose  solution  the  destiny  of  man 
depends — and  chief  among  these,  the  nature,  the  position,  and  the 
efficacy  of  all  religious  institutions — are  presented  among  us  in  a  light 
altogether  singular.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  religion  is  absolutely  free; 
and  having  been  corrupted  everywhere  else  by  its  union  with  the  civil 
power,  or  pressed  everywhere  else  under  the  iron  hand  of  persecution, 
its  sublime  mission  among  us  is  to  make  manifest  its  capacity  to  be  at 
once  free  and  efficacious  in  the  bosom  of  a  people  at  once  great  and 
free.  Moreover,  the  people  among  whom  this  vast  experiment  is  to 
have  free  scope,  differ  most  remarkably  from  all  others  precisely  in 
those  respects  in  which  religion  might  be  supposed  most  capable  of 
being  affected  for  good  or  ill,  by  other  absorbing  interests  of  man. 
Here  there  is  cast  loose  upon  society — wholly  disconnected  with  reli- 
gion, and,  therefore,  available  against  it  as  well  as  for  it — a  larger 
proportion  of  educated  intellect  has  never  before  existed  in  any  com- 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  265 

munity ;  a  greater  mass  which  must  needs  be  influenced,  and,  when 
influenced  either  way,  correspondingly  powerful;  a  mass  stimulated 
throughout  every  portion  of  it  to  a  degree  never  witnessed  before  in 
any  age  of  the  world.  Can  the  religion  of  Christ  establish  its  dominion, 
by  its  own  power,  over  such  hearts  ?  Can  it  maintain  supreme  sway 
over  such  minds  by  its  own  simple  and  divine  force  ?  It  is  a  singular 
proof  of  its  wonderful  hold  upon  the  human  soul,  that,  so  far  from  being 
shaken  loose,  it  has  constantly  augmented  its  influence  throughout  the 
terrific  agitations  of  the  human  race  during  the  whole  career  of  our 
country.  It  has  survived  the  midnight  of  the  world ;  and  its  last  office 
is  to  preside  over  the  noon  of  human  grandeur.  Let  us  do  our  part 
toward  the  accomplishment  of  this  sublime  destiny. 


SCIENCE   AND   RELIGION. 

M.  HOPKINS. 

THAT  onward  movement  in  the  march  of  creation,  how  grand  it  is ! 
how  mysterious  in  its  origin !  How  inscrutable,  how  utterly  beyond 
the  scope  of  science  are  its  issues  !  Only  after  the  dethronement  of 
chaos,  and  during  the  first  epoch  in  which  there  were  orderly  arrange- 
ments and  recurrent  movements,  was  science  possible.  Then  she  might 
have  pitched  her  tent,  and  polished  her  glasses,  and  built  her  labora- 
tory, and  have  begun  her  observations  and  her  records.  She  might 
have  counted  every  scale  on  the  placoids,  and  every  spot  on  the  lichens, 
and  every  ring  on  the  graptolites,  and  have  analyzed  the  fog  from  every 
standing  pool ;  and  so  have  gone  on  thousands  of  years,  feeling  all  the 
time  that  her  tent  was  a  house  with  stable  foundations,  and  her  recur- 
ring movements  an  inheritance  for  ever.  "  Do  you  suppose,"  she  might 
have  said,  "that  this  fixed  order  will  be  broken  up?"  "Do  you  not 
see  that  since  the  fathers  fell  asleep  all  things  continue  as  they  were  ?" 
But  that  epoch  came  to  its  close.  The  placoids,  and  lichens,  and  grap- 
tolites, and  all  the  science  connected  with  them,  were  whelmed  beneath 
the  surface,  to  be  known  no  more  except  as  they  might  leave  their 
record  there.  Then  again,  in  the  second  period,  science  might  have 
gone  the  same  round,  and  fallen  into  the  same  infidelity.  And,  indeed, 
from  her  own  stand-point  alone,  how  could  she  do  otherwise?  The 
circular  movement  cannot  speak  of  that  which  is  to  end  it.  And  so  it 
has  been  through  the  epochs. 

According  to  its  own  records,  the  coming  up  of  the  creation  out  of 
the  past  eternity  has  been  as  the  march  of  an  army  that  should  move 
on  by  separate  stages  with  recruits  of  new  races  and  orders  at  the 
opening  of  each  encampment.  During  those  long  days  of  God  there 
was  scope  for  science,  and  for  a  new  one  in  each.  In  each,  science 
23 


266  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

could  pitch  the  tent,  and  forage,  and  perfect  the  arrangement  for  the 
encampment ;  but  she  could  not  tell  when  the  tents  were  to  be  struck, 
or  where  the  army  would  march  next.  And  so  the  movement  has  been 
onward  till  our  epoch  has  come,  and  we  have  been  called  in  as  recruits. 
And  now  again  science  is  busy  with  her  fixed  arrangements  and  recur- 
ring movements;  but  knows  just  as  little  as  before  of  the  rectilinear 
movement — of  the  direction  and  termination  of  this  mighty  march. 
It  is  within  this  movement,  and  not  in  the  sphere  of  science  that  our  great 
interest  lies.  Belonging  to  arrangements  and  movements  in  this  world, 
science  can  do  much  for  us  in  this  world,  but  she  cannot  regenerate  the 
world,  she  cannot  secure  the  interests  which  lie  only  in  the  rectilinear 
line  of  movement,  and  which  are  "  the  one  thing  needful."  Of  that 
movement  we  can  know  nothing  except  through  faith.  Through  that 
we  may  know.  We  believe  there  is  one  who  has  marshalled  the  hosts 
of  this  moving  army,  and  who  has  the  ordering  of  them,  and  that  he 
has  told  us  so  much  of  this  onward  movement  as  we  need  to  know ; 
and  here  it  is  that  we  find  that  sphere  of  faith  which  we  say  is  distinct 
from  science,  but  not  opposed  to  it. 


J.  McCLTNTOCK. 

AT  every  stage  of  life,  man  seeks  for  love.  Yet  he  finds  none  that 
endures.  What  affections  are  not  blasted  by  sin,  by  the  world's  sad 
changes,  by  the  treachery  of  feeble  natures,  by  the  destroying  forces 
of  ambition  or  of  avarice, — those,  I  say,  that  are  proof  against  all 
these — and  0 !  how  few  these  are,  the  bitter  experience  of  life  has 
convinced  us  all — what  becomes  of  them  ?  Buried,  too  often,  in  the 
graves  of  those  that  gave  and  received  them.  Who  among  us  has  not 
felt  his  own  love — that  went  forth  warm  and  gushing — falling  back  in 
an  Alpine  torrent  upon  his  heart,  as  he  has  seen  the  dull  earth  close 
upon  remains  dearer  to  him  than  life ! 

But  has  God  given  us  these  affections,  and  are  they  never  to  be  satis- 
fied? Is  there  no  object  toward  which  they  can  be  turned,  that  shall 
not  change  ?  Here,  brethren,  it  is  tbat  Religion  offers  to  fill  this  deepest 
craving  of  our  nature.  She  offers  to  us  an  object  worthy  of  our  highest, 
purest  love  in  the  infinite  and  unchangeable  God.  She  offers  to  us  the 
"  One  altogether  lovely,"  and  tells  us  that  he  will  accept  our  love,  and 
treasure  it  up  so  that  it  shall  never  fail  us.  And  she  wooes  us  to 
bestow  our  affection  thus,  by  showing  us  that  God  is  not  only  so  infinite 
in  goodness  as  to  be  willing  to  receive  our  love,  but  that,  in  his 
unbounded  condescension,  he  has  sought  us  by  pouring  out  the  riches 
of  his  own  infinite  affection  upon  us!  And  she  tells  us,  that  this 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  267 

supreme  affection  will  not  only  have  permanence  in  itself,  but  will  also 
so  sanctify  and  transfigure  all  our  lower  affections  as  to  endow  them 
with  its  own  immortality,  that  our  love  for  children,  parents,  husband, 
wife,  or  friend,  need  not  perish  with  them,  but  may  bloom  for  ever,  in 
the  paradise  of  God.  In  this  sense,  we  may  take  as  entirely  true  the 
beautiful  language  of  Southey : 

"  They  sin,  who  tell  us  love  can  die  ! 
"With  life  all  other  passions  fly, 
All  others  are  but  vanity. 
Earthly,  these  passions  of  the  earth, 
They  perish  where  they  had  their  birth ; 
But  love  is  indestructible, 
Its  holy  flame  for  ever  burneth — 
From  heaven  it  carne,  to  heaven  returneth." 


RELIGIONISTS. 

F.  D.  HUNTING-TON. 

•  You  have  seen  the  religionist  of  mere  passion.  That  impulsive  tem- 
perament is  doubtless  capable  of  good  services  to  the  master.  But,  to 
that  end,  the  master  must  have  the  reforming  of  it.  That  unsteady 
purpose  must  be  made  steadfast  through  a  thoughtful  imitation  of  the 
constancy,  that  said,  "  Behold,  I  go  up  to  Jerusalem  to  be  crucified." 
That  fluctuating  wing  of  worship,  must  be  poised  by  some  influence 
from  those  hills,  where  whole  nights  were  not  too  long  for  a  Redeemer's 
prayers.  That  inexpert  swimmer  in  the  sea  of  life,  now  rising,  now 
sinking,  and  now  noisily  splashing  the  waters,  must  be  schooled  by 
sober  experience  to  glide  onward  with  a  firmer  and  stiller  stroke. 
Ardor  must  be  matched  with  consistency.  You  are  not  to  be  carried  to 
heaven  by  a  fitful  religion,  periodically  raised  from  the  dead  at  seasons 
of  social  exhilaration  ;  not  by  a  religion  alive  at  church,  but  stagnant 
in  the  streets  and  in  the  market-places  ;  not  by  a  religion  kindling  at 
some  favored  hour  of  sentimental  meditation,  only  to  sink  and  flicker 
in  the  drudgery  of  common  work.  It  is  to  little  purpose  that  we  read, 
and  circulate,  and  preach  the  Bible,  except  all  our  reading  and  all  our 
living  gain  thereby  a  more  biblical  tone.  And  it  is  quite  futile  that 
our  breasts  glow  with  some  fugitive  feeling  in  the  house  of  God,  unless 
that  feeling  dedicates  our  common  dwellings  to  be  all  houses  of  God. 

So  have  you  seen  the  religious  legalist.  In  business,  in  the  street,  in 
sanctuaries,  at  home,  you  have  seen  him.  In  business,  measuring  off 
his  righteousness  by  some  sealed  measure  of  public  usage,  as  mechani- 
cally as  his  merchandise,  and  making  a  label  or  a  dye-stuff  his  cunning 
proxy  to  tell  the  lie  that  some,  judicial  penalty  had  frightened  from  his 
tongue  ;  disowning  no  patent  obligation,  but  cheating  the  customer,  or 
oppressing  the  weak,  in  secret.  In  the  street,  wearing  an  outside  of 


268          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

genial  manners,  with  a  frosty  temper  under  it,  or  a  cloak  of  propriety 
with  a  heart  of  sin ;  in  the  sanctuary,  purchasing,  with  formal  profes- 
sions, one  day,  the  privilege  of  an  untroubled  self-seeking  the  other  six, 
or  possibly  opening  the  pew  door  and  the  prayer-book  here  to-day,  with 
the  same  hand  that  will  wrong  a  neighbor  to-morrow ;  and  at  home, 
practising  that  reluctant  virtue  that  would  hardly  give  conjugal  affec- 
tion but  for  the  marriage-bond,  and  that,  by  being  exported  to  another 
continent,  would  find  a  Parisian  atmosphere  a  solvent  of  all  its  scruples. 
Not  descending,  at  present,  to  the  depth  of  depravity,  he  certainly 
never  rises  to  a  pure  piety.  Whatever  respectable  or  admirable  traits 
you  see  in  him,  you  miss  that  distinctive  mark  which  every  eye  takes 
knowledge  of  as  a  spiritual  consecration. 

Engraft,  now,  on  that  "  wild  olive"  stock,  the  sweet  juices  of  Chris- 
tian love,  drawn  from  their  original  stock  in  Bethlehem,  "  of  the  seed 
of  David  and  the  root  of  Jesse  ;"  soften  that  hard  integrity  by  Christian 
charity ;  in  place  of  duty  done  from  sheer  compulsion,  put  duty  done 
from  a  willing,  eager,  and  believing  heart.  Do  this,  and  thou  shalt  live. 

From  "  A  Sermon." 


DUELLING. 

ELIPHALET  NOTT. 

ABSURD  as  duelling  is,  were  it  absurd  only,  though  we  might  smile 
at  the  weakness  and  pity  the  folly  of  its  abettors,  there  would  be  no 
occasion  for  seriously  attacking  them.  But,  to  what  has  been  said,  I 
add,  that  duelling  is  RASH  and  PRESUMPTUOUS.  Life  is  the  gift  of  God, 
and  it  was  never  bestowed  to  be  sported  with.  To  each,  the  sovereign 
of  the  universe  has  marked  out  a  sphere  to  move  in,  and  assigned  a 
part  to  act.  This  part  respects  ourselves  not  only,  but  others  also. 
Each  lives  for  the  benefit  of  all.  As  in  the  system  of  nature  the  sun 
shines,  not  to  display  its  own  brightness,  and  answer  its  own  conve- 
nience, but  to  warm,  enlighten,  and  bless  the  world ;  so  in  the  system 
of  animated  beings,  there  is  a  dependence,  a  correspondence  and  a 
relation  through  an  infinitely  extended,  dying,  and  reviving  universe, 
in  which  no  man  liveth  to  himself,  and  no  man  dieih  to  himself.  Friend 
is  related  to  friend ;  the  father  to  his  family ;  the  individual  to  com- 
munity. To  every  member  of  which,  having  fixed  his  station  and 
assigned  his  duty,  the  God  of  nature  says,  "  Keep  this  trust — defend 
this  post."  For  whom  ?  For  thy  friends — thy  family — thy  country. 
And  having  received  such  a  charge,  and  for  such  a  purpose,  to  desert  it 
is  rashness  and  temerity. 

Since  the  opinions  of  men  are  as  they  are,  do  you  ask,  how  you  shall 
avoid  the  imputation  of  cowardice,  if  you  do  not  fight  when  you  are 
injured  ?  Ask  your  family  how  you  will  avoid  the  imputation  of  cruelty 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  269 

—ask  your  conscience  how  you  will  avoid  the  imputation  of  guilt — ask 
God  how  you  will  avoid  his  malediction  if  you  do.  These  are  previous 
questions.  Let  these  first  be  answered,  and  it  will  be  easy  to  reply  to 
any  which  may  follow  them;  If  you  only  accept  a  challenge,  when  you 
believe  in  your  conscience  that  duelling  is  wrong,  you  act  the  coward. 
The  dastardly  fear  of  the  world  governs  you.  Awed  by  its  menaces, 
you  conceal  your  sentiments,  appear  in  disguise,  and  act  in  guilty  con- 
formity to  principles  not  your  own,  and  that,  too,  in  the  most  solemn 
moment,  and  when  engaged  in  an  act  which  exposes  you  to  death. 

But  if  it  be  rashness  to  accept,  how  passing  rashness  is  it,  in  a  sinner, 
to  give  a  challenge  ?  Does  it  become  him,  whose  life  is  measured  out 
by  crimes,  to  be  extreme  to  mark,  and  punctilious  to  resent  whatever  is 
amiss  in  others?  Must  the  duellist,  who  now,  disdaining  to  forgive,  so 
imperiously  demands  satisfaction  to  the  uttermost — must  this  man, 
himself  trembling  at  the  recollection  of  his  offences,  presently  appear  a 
suppliant  before  the  mercy-seat  of  God  ?  Imagine  this,  and  the  case  is 
not  imaginary,  and  you  cannot  conceive  an  instance  of  greater  incon- 
sistency or  of  more  presumptuous  arrogance.  Wherefore,  avenge  not 
yourselves,  but  rather  give  place  unto  wrath;  for  vengeance  is  mine,  I  will 
repay  it,  saitJi  the  LORD. 


THE   CHEERFULNESS   OF   PIETY. 

DR.  DORBIN. 

THE  good  man  only  is  rationally  and  permanently  cheerful.  No 
cheerfulness  but  his  is  beyond  the  power  of  fortune,  or  the  influence  of 
earthly  events.  If  prosperity  smile  on  him,  and  he  and  his  country  are 
full  to  overflowing,  he  does  not  become  proud  and  vain  in  his  heart,  and 
forget  his  God.  His  devotion  becomes  more  intense  and  uniform  by 
the  addition  of  a  large  amount  of  gratitude ;  and,  instead  of  using  the 
power  which  the  abundance  of  his  wealth  gives  him,  to  do  harm,  he 
uses  itz  and  his  wealth  also,  to  diffuse  relief  and  joy  among  the  afflicted, 
and  thus  disposes  a  thousand  hearts  to  rise  up  and  bless  him. 

Besides  this,  he  has  the  pleasure  of  the  consciousness  of  doing  good, 
and  being  good — a  pleasure,  beyond  a  doubt,  the  purest  and  highest  a 
human  heart  can  feel  on  earth,  except  the  pleasure  of  a  consciousness 
of  sin  forgiven,  and  of  the  favor  of  God.  Moreover,  I  may  add,  he  is  in 
haste  to  do  all  the  good  he  can,  during  his  prosperity,  for  he  knows  not 
but  that  he  may  be  quickly  deprived  of  the  power  to  do  good,  by  some 
sudden  reverse  of  fortune.  He  seizes  quickly  the  opportunity  of 
"  laying  up  for  himself  a  good  foundation  against  the  time  to  come," 
that  his  Saviour  may  say  to  him,  with  others :  "  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my 
Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  ;  for  I  was  hungry,  and  ye  fed  me ;  thirsty, 
23* 


270  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

and  ye  gave  me  drink;  naked,  and  ye  clothed  me;  sick,  and  in  prison, 
and  ye  visited  me ;  for,  inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the 
least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me."  With  this 
exalted  end  in  view,  he  hastens  to  do  all  the  good  he  can  during  his 
prosperity. 

But  should  he  be  a  child  of  adversity,  from  his  youth  up,  or  should 
he  experience  the  deepest  reverses  of  fortune;  do  riches  take  wings  and 
fly  away ;  do  friends  forsake ;  does  health  fail ;  does  he  stand  like  some 
blasted  tree,  on  the  bleak  mountain  peak,  stripped  of  all  its  branches, 
and  scathed  with  the  storms  and  lightnings  of  ages ;  has  the  very 
genius  of  desolation  and  sorrow  taken  him  into  captivity — under  any 
or  all  those  circumstances,  he  does  not,  like  the  ungodly  man  too  fre- 
quently, throw  away  his  life  foolishly,  in  a  fit  of  despair :  but  with  a 
firmness  and  resignation  peculiar  to  a  good  man,  he  bows  to  the  awful 
dispensations  of  his  God,  and  repeats,  with  a  chastened  smile,  "  Thy 
will  be  done  I"  and  though  that  will  is  awfully  mysterious  at  the  present 
time,  yet  he  is  sure  its  issues  will  be  best.  Of  such  an  one,  under 
such  circumstances,  we  may  well  say,  with  the  poet : 

"  Like  some  tall  cliff,  that  lifts  his  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm ; 
Though  clouds  and  tempests  round  its  sides  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head." 


DUTY  AND   PKAISE. 

J.  B.  KERFOOT. 

How  much  of  any  good  deed  has  sprung  from  love  of  praise,  or  how 
far  it  would  have  been  changed  if  no  such  reward  had  been  in  view,  is 
not  an  easy  thing  for  any  one  to  decide.  How  far  virtue  carries  us, 
and  where  love  of  praise  takes  us  up,  would  often  be  a  wholesome 
inquiry.  Here  is  peril — all  -the  greater  from  the  fact,  that  it  is  right 
to  desire  the  regards  of  the  virtuous.  God  implants  the  desire  in  us  as 
a  help  to  duty  :  but  it  must  not  be  the  motive  or  the  measure  of  duty. 
Conscience  must  be  cultivated  so  as  to  be  able  to  decide  and  impel 
without  any  such  aid.  Otherwise  our  virtue  will  become  less  real — 
more  hollow  every  day.  We  will  allow  ourselves  to  receive  more 
credit  than  is  our  due.  We  will  gradually  forget  how  little  our  due  is. 
Weakening  principle  and  growing  vanity  will  be  the  result.  A  most 
subtle  selfishness  and  cowardice  will  grow  up.  Appearances  will  be 
maintained,  but  reality  will  die  out.  An  exterior,  l#lt  by  us  to  be  un- 
fair, will  be  more  carefully  regarded  than  that  honest  reality  of  prin- 
ciple within,  which  only  can  make  us  good  men,  useful  men,  and  true 
men.  The  remedy  is  this.  Let  God  and  your  own  consciences  be  the 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  271 

judges  to  which  you  make  your  hourly  appeals.  Keep  all  other  appeals 
in  the  background.  Try  yourselves  more  by  your  private  life — that 
which  no  one  else  knows,  than  by  that  which  others  judge  by.  Bishop 
Jeremy  Taylor  says,  truly — "  He  that  does  as  well  in  private,  between 
God  and  his  own  soul,  as  in  public,  in  pulpits,  in  theatres  and  market- 
places, hath  given  himself  a  good  testimony  that  his  purposes  are  full 
of  honesty,  nobleness,  and  integrity."  "  The  breath  of  the  people,"  he 
adds,  "  is  but  air,  and  that  not  often  wholesome."  .  Nor  is  it — real 
virtue  stifles  and  grows  faint  if  it  breathe  it  too  much.  It  may  exhilar- 
ate for  a  time,  but  it  leaves  afterwards  the  sickening  sense  of  a  hollow 
hypocrisy,  for  which  the  honest  man  will  loathe  himself  in  secret. 
Live,  then,  before  your  conscience.  Let  conscience  people  your  area 
of  action  with  the  spectators  whose  applause  you  seek.  The  great 
philosopher  as  well  as  orator  of  Rome,  may  have  felt  the  truth  of  his 
words  all  the  more  because  of  his  own  vanity,  when  he  wrote  "  Nullum 
theatrum  virtuti  conscientia  majus  est" — "  Virtue  can  have  no  theatre 
greater  than  conscience."  I  may  add,  that  there  is  no  theatre  besides 
in  which  our  deeds  and  words  will  not  become  too  much  the  acting  of  a 
player's  part. 

From  "  College  of  St.  James  Commencement  Addresses." 


THE   CONFIRMATION   OF   FAITH. 

RT.  REV.  WM.  WHITE,  D.  D. 

IN  regard  to  the  confirming  of  our  faith,  there  is  weighty  evidence 
in  this  consent  of  prophecy  and  history,  and  of  prophecies  and  events 
of  different  ages,  in  a  long  succession,  respectively  answering  to  one 
another.  Here  is  an  extraordinary  series,  which,  like  that  of  the  for- 
tunes of  the  seed  of  Abraham,  is  addressed  to  all  ages.  Our  Saviour, 
having  read  in  a  synagogue,  from  the  Prophet  Isaiah,  a  description  of 
the  character  in  which  he  was  at  that  moment  manifesting  himself, 
made  the  appeal  to  their  senses  and  to  their  understandings — "  This 
day  is  this  Scripture  fulfilled  in  your  ears."  But  in  the  present  sub- 
ject, we  have  the  detail  of  successive  prophecies,  which  have  been 
fulfilling  through  many  ages  ;  which,  in  this,  our  day,  are  going  on  in 
their  fulfilment,  and  which  will  continue  to  be  fulfilled,  in  what 
remains  of  time.  Balanced  with  this  evidence,  how  light  are  difficul- 
ties lying  on  the  face  of  detached  parts  of  the  Christian  system ;  the 
meaning  of  which  we  may  have  mistaken  ;  while  this  sentiment,  per- 
vading it,  may  be  made  luminous  to  every  understanding !  a  senti- 
ment, which  a  succession  of  impostors  would  have  found  it  impossible 
to  sustain  through  a  long  tract  of  time,  as  it  would  also  have  been  for 
them,  had  they  so  continued  it,  to  have  brought  the  state  of  the  world, 
and  the  conduct,  as  well  of  enemies  as  of  friends,  to  correspond  with 


272          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

the  extraordinary  scheme,  thus  supposed  to  have  been  contrived. 
What  then  should  be  the  result,  but  our  being  rendered  by  it  the  hum- 
ble disciples  of  the  blessed  Person  who  once  "tabernacled  among  men," 
and  who  is  now  exalted  far  above  "  all  principality  and  power,  and 
might,  and  dominion,  and  every  name  that  is  named,  not  only  in  this 
world,  but  also  in  that  which  is  to  come." 

From  "  Missionary  Sermon." 


THE   BEAUTY  OF   GOODNESS. 

J.  B.  KERFOOT. 

I  KNOW  not  how  I  can  better  conclude  this  address  to  you  all,  young 
gentlemen — especially  to  you  who  have  now  ceased  to  be  our  pupils — 
than  by  proposing  as  its  title  one  of  the  most  expressive  words  with 
which  your  Greek  studies  have  familiarized  you.  I  tried  to  think  of 
some  one  word  in  our  own  language  which  would  express  my  idea,  but 
none  occurred  to  me.  I  wished  to  impress  the  thought  of  virtue  beau- 
tiful because  of  its  reality ;  lovely  in  appearance  because  real  in  its 
nature.  Ka/LoxayaQta — beauty  and  goodness  inseparably  united;  spring- 
ing each  from  the  other — the  moral  state  and  appearance  of  the  upright 
man.  KaXoxa.YO.6ta  seems  to  me  the  very  word  needed.  He  who 
exhibits  virtue  in  a  graceless  form,  belies  her  scarcely  less  than  he 
who  puts  show  in  the  place  of  reality.  Goodness  and  loveliness  belong 
together ;  neither  can  exist  apart  from  the  other.  Moral  goodness  must 
always  be  beautiful.  Moral  beauty  can  never  clothe  anything  but 
moral  goodness.  Bend  your  efforts  to  the  reality,  and  the  loveliness 
which  belongs  to  it  will  appear  of  itself.  Desire  to  exhibit  the  loveli- 
ness of  goodness,  not  for  your  own  sake  or  praise,  but  for  the  sake  of 
virtue  and  of  her  One  Fountain,  and  you  will  avoid  needless  offences.  * 
But  feel  it  to  be  a  degradation  to  wish  to  appear,  or  to  consent  to 
appear,  in  any  matter  better  than  you  are.  Yet  rebel  not  against  the 
exactions  of  your  place  and  circumstances.  They  require  high  virtue 
and  its  good  name.  Concentrate  your  thoughts  upon  the  former ;  the 
latter,  the  good  name,  will  not  fail  to  come  with  it.  Make  yourself 
xaXoxayaOos — xaXoq  xat  ayadoq.  Seek  what  I  now  earnestly  com- 
mend to  you  all — xaXoxa-YO-Oia — and  do  it,  in  the  only  true  and  sure 
way,  by  seeking  till  you  find  that  which  has  so  often  been  commended 
to  you  in  a  place  and  on  occasions  more  sacred  than  this,  and  in  the 
words  of  Divine  origin — "  The  Beauty  of  Holiness  !" 

From  "  College  of  St.  James  Commencement  Addresses." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  273 

THE   RESURRECTION. 

BISHOP  MdLVAINE. 

ALREADY  had  the  Disciples  learned,  by  painful  experience,  that  it 
was  through  much  tribulation  they  were  to  share  in  his  kingdom ;  but 
such  trials  had  not  shaken  their  faith.  Accustomed  to  behold  him 
despised,  persecuted,  and  rejected  of  men,  their  confidence  was  con- 
tinually sustained,  as  they  heard  him  speak  "  as  never  man  spake," 
and  with  an  authority  that  controlled  the  sea  and  raised  the  dead. 
But  now,  deep  tribulation,  such  as  they  had  not  known  before,  had 
overtaken  them.  What  darkness  had  come  upon  their  faith  !  He,  who 
was  once  so  mighty  to  give  deliverance  to  the  captive,  had  himself  been 
taken  captive  and  bound  to  the  cross.  He,  who  with- a  word  raised  the 
dead,  had  been  violently,  wickedly,  put  to  an  ignominious  death.  He, 
whom  they  expected  to  reign  as  King  of  kings,  and  to  subdue  all 
nations,  had  been  brought  under  the  dominion  of  his  own  nation,  arid 
shut  up  in  the  sepulchre,  and  all  the  people  of  Israel  were  now  boast- 
fully confident  that  the  death  of  the  cross  had  proved  him  a  deceiver. 
0,  indeed,  it  was  a  season  of  great  heaviness,  and  dismay,  and  trial, 
those  days  and  nights  in  which  their  beloved  Master  was  lying  in  death  ! 
The  great  stone  which  his  enemies  had  rolled  to  the  door  of  the  sepul- 
chre, lest  his  disciples  should  go  by  night  and  take  away  the  body,  was 
expressive  of  the  cold,  dead  weight,  which  that  death  and  burial  had 
laid  upon  their  hearts.  That  sepulchre  seemed  as  the  tomb  of  all  their 
hopes.  All  was  buried  with  Jesus.  "For,  as  yet  (it  is  written),  they 
knew  not  the  Scripture,  that  he  must  rise  again  from  the  dead." 
(John,  xx.  9.)  Had  they  understood  what  he  had  often  told  them,  they 
would  have  known  "  that  thus  it  behooved  (the)  Christ  to  suffer,  and  to 
rise  from  the  dead  the  third  day." 

The  third  day  was  now  come.  The  Jewish  Sabbath  was  over.  The 
first  day  of  the  week  was  breaking.  While  it  is  yet  dark,  faithful  women 
repair  to  the  sepulchre  with  spices  for  the  embalming.  They  find  the 
stone  rolled  away.  Wondering  at  this,  they  enter  the  tomb.  The  body 
is  not  there.  Enemies  have  taken  it  away,  is  their  first  thought.  Mary 
Magdalene  hastens  to  say  to  Peter  and  John,  "they  have  taken  away 
the  Lord  out  of  the  sepulchre,  and  we  know  not  where  they  have  laid 
him."  Angels  appear  to  the  women  in  their  alarm,  saying,  "  He  is  not 
here,  but  is  risen."  "With  fear,"  and  yet  "with  great  joy,"  they  ran 
"  to  bring  his  disciples  word."  But  to  the  latter,  "  their  words  seemed 
as  idle  tales,  and  they  believed  them  not."  Peter  and  John  had  now 
reached  "the  place  where  the  Lord  lay,"  and  entering  in,  they  found 
the  grave-clothes  remaining,  but  otherwise  an  empty  sepulchre,  "  They 
saw  and  believed."  After  a  little,  came  Mary  Magdalene  to  the  other 
disciples,  and  "  told  them  she  had  seen  the  Lord,"  and  what  things  he 

S 


274  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

had  spoken  unto  her.  Still,  "  they  believed  not."  It  seemed  too  good 
to  be  true.  How  was  it  that  they  did  not  remember  his  words,  which 
even  the  chief  priests  and  Pharisees  repeated  to  Pilate,  as  a  reason  for 
posting  a  guard  around  the  tomb,  "After  three  days,  I  will  rise  again." 
The  terrible  shock  of  the  crucifixion  must  have  so  stunned  their  faith, 
and  distracted  their  thoughts,  that  what  they  afterward  remembered 
so  clearly,  was  either  forgotten,  or  not  comprehended. 


THE    PURPOSES    OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

F.  WAYLAND. 

OUR  object  will  not  have  been  accomplished  till  the  tomahawk  shall 
be  buried  for  ever,  and  the  tree  of  peace  spread  its  broad  branches  from 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific ;  until  a  thousand  smiling  villages  shall  be 
reflected  from  the  waves  of  the  Missouri,  and  the  distant  valleys  of  the 
West  echo  with  the  song  of  the  reaper ;  till  the  wilderness  and  the 
solitary  place  shall  have  been  glad  for  us,  and  the  desert  has  rejoiced 
and  blossomed  as  the  rose.  Our  labors  are  not  to  cease  until  Africa 
shall  have  been  enlightened  and  redeemed,  and  Ethiopia,  from  the 
Mediterranean  to  the  Cape,  shall  have  stretched  forth  her  hand  unto 
God. 

How  changed  will  then  be  the  face  of  Asia !  Brahmins,  and  sooders, 
and  castes,  and  shasters,  will  have  passed  away,  like  the  mist  which 
rolls  up  the  mountain's  side  before  the  rising  glories  of  a  summer's 
morning ;  while  the  land  on  which  it  rested,  shining  forth  in  all  its 
loveliness,  shall,  from  its  numberless  habitations,  send  forth  the  high 
praises  of  God  and  the  Lamb.  The  Hindoo  mother  will  gaze  upon  her 
infant  with  the  same  tenderness  which  throbs  in  the  breast  of  any 
Christian  mother ;  and  the  Hindoo  son  will  pour  into  the  wounded 
bosom  of  his  widowed  parent  the  oil  of  peace  and  consolation. 

In  a  word,  point  us  to  the  loveliest  village  that  smiles  upon  a  Scottish 
or  New  England  landscape,  and  compare  it  with  the  filthiness  and 
brutality  of  a  Caffrarian  kraal,  and  we  tell  you  that  our  object  is  to 
render  that  Caffrarian  kraal  as  happy  and  as  gladsome  as  that  Scottish 
or  New  England  village.  Point  us  to  the  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
where  liberty  -is  best  understood  and  most  perfectly  enjoyed,  where 
intellect  shoots  forth  in  its  richest  luxuriance,  and  where  all  the  kind- 
lier feelings  of  the  heart  are  constantly  seen  in  their  most  graceful 
exercise;  point  us  to  the  loveliest  and  happiest  neighborhood  in  the 
world  on  which  we  dwell ;  and  we  tell  you  that  our  object  is  to  render 
this  whole  earth,  with  all  its  nations,  and  kindreds,  and  tongues,  and 
people,  as  happy,  nay,  happier  than  that  neighborhood. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  275 

CHRISTIAN  MOTIVES. 

GEORGE  F.  PIERCE. 

THE  relative  duties  of  life  are  performed  not  to  gratify  a  native 
generosity,  or  eke  out  a  dubious  popularity,  but  as  part  of  the  service 
and  homage  due  his  Maker.  Over  the  whole  circumference  of  his 
engagements — in  the  bosom  of  his  family — the  busy  marts  of  trade — 
the  retirement  of  the  closet — the  worship  of  the  sanctuary — the  citizen- 
ship of  the  world — there  presides  a  solemn  recognition  of  the  divine 
presence,  his  being  and  his  empire,  and  every  step  is  taken  in  reference 
to  him  as  a  witness  and  a  judge.  I  know  that  many  profess  and  seem 
to  be  religious  on  lower  principles.  Public  opinion — consistency — ease 
of  conscience,  to  shun  hell,  to  gain  heaven,  all  operate,  and  they  super- 
sede and  dethrone  the  higher  law  in  the  text.  Not  that  these  motives 
are  illegitimate,  but  partial  and  inferior.  They  ought  not  to  become 
principal  and  paramount ;  and  they  cannotwithout  a  deleterious  unhinge- 
ment of  character,  and  a  transfer  of  our  duty  from  the  ground  of  what 
is  divine  and  authoritative,  to  that  which  is  human  and  self-pleasing. 
The  motive  in  the  text  is  comprehensive,  embracing  all  lower  ends — 
harmonizes  all,  yet  subordinates  them  all  to  its  own  sovereign  sway. 
Like  a  conqueror  at  the  head  of  his  battalions,  it  marches  forth  to 
subdue  the  insurgent  elements  that  would  dispute  its  dominion.  It  is 
the  "  stronger  man"  keeping  his  goods  in  peace.  Without  it,  there  can 
be  no  consecration,  and  with  it  no  compromise  of  duty.  The  failure  to 
recognise  and  adopt  this  great  principle  of  morality,  has  fearfully 
diluted  the  experience  of  the  church,  and  embarrassed  every  department 
of  Christian  service.  "  I  will  run  in  the  way  of  thy  commandments, 
when  thou  shalt  enlarge  my  heart,"  said  the  Psalmist.  No  man  can 
rise  above  the  constraining  considerations  which  spring  from  interest, 
feeling,  safety,  pleasure,  in  reference  to  all  minor  questions  of  duty, 
save  as  he  resolves  religion  into  some  great  general  principles  and 
purposes,  from  the  decisions  of  which  there  is  no  appeal. 


SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

C.  H.  SPURGEON. 

THE  world  hath  its  night.  It  seemeth  necessary  that  it  should  have 
one.  The  sun  shineth  by  day,  and  men  go  forth  to  their  labors ;  but 
they  grow  weary,  and  nightfall  cometh  on,  like  a  sweet  boon  from  heaven. 
The  darkness  draweth  the  curtains,  and  shutteth  out  the  light,  which 
might  prevent  our  eyes  from  slumber  ;  while  the  sweet,  calm  stillness 
of  the  night  permits  us  to  rest  upon  the  lap  of  ease,  and  there  forget 
awhile  our  cares,  until  the  morning  sun  appeareth,  and  an  angel  puts 
his  hand  upon  the  curtain,  and  undraws  it  once  again,  touches  our  eye- 


276          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

lids,  and  bids  us  rise,  and  proceed  to  the  labors  of  the  day.  Night  is 
one  of  the  greatest  blessings  men  enjoy;  we  have  many  reasons  to 
thank  God  for  it.  Yet  night  is  to  many  a  gloomy  season.  There  is 
"  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness ;"  there  is  "  the  terror  by 
night ;"  there  is  the  dread  of  robbers  and  of  fell  disease,  with  all  those 
fears  that  the  timorous  know,  when  they  have  no  light  wherewith  they 
can  discern  objects.  It  is  then  they  fancy  that  spiritual  creatures  walk 
the  earth ;  though,  if  they  knew  rightly,  they  would  find  it  to  be  true, 
that 

"Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  this  earth, 
Unseen,  both  when  we  sleep,  and  when  we  wake," 

and  that  at  all  times  they  are  round  about  us — not  more  by  night  than 
by  day.  Night  is  the  season  of  terror  and  alarm  to  most  men.  Yet 
even  night  hath  its  songs.  Have  you  never  stood  by  the  seaside  at 
night,  and  heard  the  pebbles  sing,  and  the  waves  chant  God's  glories? 
Or  have  you  never  risen  from  your  couch,  and  thrown  up  the  window 
of  your  chamber,  and  listened  there?  Listened  to  what?  Silence — 
save  now  and  then  a  murmuring  sound,  which  seems  sweet  music  tl\en. 
And  have  you  not  fancied  that  you  heard  the  harp  of  God  playing  in 
heaven  ?  Did  you  not  conceive,  that  yon  stars,  that  those  eyes  of  God, 
looking  down  on  you,  were  also  mouths  of  song — that  every  star  was 
singing  God's  glory,  singing,  as  it  shone,  its  mighty  Maker,  and  his 
lawful,  well-deserved  praise?  Night  hath  its  songs.  We  need  not 
much  poetry  in  our  spirit,  to  catch  the  song  of  night,  and  hear  the 
spheres  as  they  chant  praises  which  are  loud  to  the  heart,  though  they 
be  silent  to  the  ear — the  praises  of  the  mighty  God,  who  bears  up  the 
unpillared  arch  of  heaven,  and  moves  the  stars  in  their  courses. 


THE  DANGER  OF   DELAY. 

J.  C.  Youira. 

THE  danger  of  deferring  the  service  of  God  is  further  evinced  by  the 
fact,  that,  the  impressions  produced  upon  you,  by  his  truths,  have  a 
natural  tendency  to  become  weaker.  They  become  weaker,  in  accordance 
with  the  general  laws  of  our  nature.  Thus  we  find,  that  impunity,  in 
any  course,  produces  in  us  insensibility  to  its  danger.  The  young 
soldier,  when,  for  the  first  time,  he  enters  the  field  of  battle,  is  almost 
always  agitated  and  alarmed  ;  when  he  first  hears  the  shock,  the 
shout,  the  groans  of  war,  his  heart  sinks  within  him.  But  each  succes- 
sive conflict,  from  which  he  escapes  unharmed,  hardens  his  heart 
against  fear ;  and  when  he  has  become  a  veteran — when  he  has  been 
long  accustomed  to  such  sights  and  sounds,  the  roar  of  artillery,  the 
flash  of  sabres,  and  the  clash  of  bayonets,  cease  to  produce  their  former 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PKOSE.  277 

impressions  upon  his  mind.  Even  so  it  is  with  the  soul,  in  view  of 
those  truths  which  God  presents  before  us  in  his  word,  to  alarm  us,  and 
urge  us  to  repentance.  Their  tendency  to  impress  us  and  awe  us  from 
ways  of  sin,  is  diminished  by  each  successive  presentation,  when  that 
presentation  fails  to  produce  in  us  any  amendment.  Even  in  diseases 
of  the  body,  we  usually  find,  that  the  more  frequently  a  remedy  is 
applied  to  a  disorder,  without  effecting  a  decided  and  favorable  change, 
the  less  prospect  there  is  of  its  ultimate  success.  The  remedy  seems  to 
become  weaker  on  each  successive  application.  The  system  appears 
to  gain,  from  every  failure,  a  greater  capacity  of  resisting  its  effects. 
Thus  we  find  it  to  be  with  the  soul,  in  its  resistance  to  these  truths, 
which  are  furnished  to  us,  by  God,  as  the  remedies  for  the  disease  of 
sin.  When  they  are  often  presented  without  producing  a  change  of 
life,  they  become  familiar,  and  cease  to  excite  any  emotion.  Are  they 
denunciations  of  the  wrath  of  God  against  sin,  or  descriptions  of  the 
woes  to  be  endured  in  the  dungeons  of  despair?  They  are  heard,  as 
we  hear  the  bowlings  of  a  stormy  blast,  from  which  we  apprehend  no 
personal  danger.  Are  they  proclamations  of  mercy — invitations  from 
our  heavenly  Father,  to  us  wandering  and  needy  prodigals,  to  return 
and  enjoy  the  rich  blessings  he  is  ever  ready  to  bestow  ;  or  are  they 
descriptions  of  the  love,  the  sufferings,  and  the  glory  of  our  divine,  yet 
condescending  Redeemer?  They  are  listened  to,  as  we  "listen  to  the 
song  of  one  that  hath  a  pleasant  voice,  and  playeth  well  upon  an  instru- 
ment ;"  or  perhaps  the  tale  has  been  so  often  heard,  that  all  its  novelty 
and  interest  are  gone,  and  it  falls  upon  dull  and  listless  ears. 

From  "  Sermon  before,  the  Judges" 


THE   UNIVEKSAL  EMPIEE   OF   DEATH. 

D.  S.  DOGGETT. 

CONTEMPLATE  for  a  moment  the  nature  of  that  event  which  puts  the 
limit  to  human  life,  whether  conditionally  or  otherwise.  And,  here,  we 
cannot  forbear  a  reflection,  upon  the  universality  of  this  awful  curse. 
It  has  smitten  with  blasting  and  mildew  every  earthly  object.  The 
whole  assemblage  of  living  beings,  originally  designed  to  luxuriate  in 
the  vigor,  and  to  sparkle  in  the  glories  of  uninterrupted  existence,  is 
doomed  to  die.  The  glow-worm  must  extinguish  his  little  spark  in  the 
night  of  death.  The  myriads  of  insects  that  crawl  upon  the  earth,  or 
float  upon  the  atmospheric  wave,  must  die.  Quadrupeds,  fishes,  fowls, 
must  die.  Vegetation  must  die.  And,  last  of  all,  man  himself  must 
die :  and  the  world,  instead  of  being  a  living  temple,  animated  and 
adorned  with  harmonious  orders  of  rejoicing  creatures,  must  become 
their  common  vortex,  one  vast  sepulchre,  the  tomb  of  all  that  hath  life. 
24 


278          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Here,  death  reigns  in  dark  and  dismal  dignity,  from  age  to  age,  and 
from  pole  to  pole.  In  all  probability,  ours  is  the  only  spot  over  which 
his  dread  dominion  extends.  In  other  places,  existence,  beyond  a 
doubt,  yet  glitters  in  primeval  beauty.  The  angel  of  death  has  never 
visited  their  healthful  abodes,  to  pour  his  vial  on  the  air,  to  scatter  over 
them  the  seeds  of  consumption,  and  to  wake  from  their  happy  popula- 
tion the  wail  of  lamentation  and  of  woe.  Here  we  breathe  the  infected 
atmosphere  of  a  loathsome  hospital,  and  while  we  witness  the  havoc 
which  appals  us,  we  expire  in  our  turn. 

"From"  A  Sermon." 


NATIONAL   EKKOK. 

T.  P.  AKERS. 

WHATEVER  may  be  the  lot  of  those  to  whom  error  is  an  inheritance, 
woe  be  to  the  people  by  whom  it  is  an  adoption.  If  America,  free 
above  all  nations,  sustained  amidst  the  trials  which  have  covered  the 
earth  with  burning  and  slaughter,  and  enlightened  by  the  fullest  know- 
ledge of  the  Divine  will,  refuse  fidelity  to  the  compact  by  which  those 
matchless  privileges  have  been  given,  her  condemnation  will  neither 
be  distant  nor  delayed.  But,  if  she  faithfully  repel  this  deepest  of  all 
crimes,  and  refuse  to  place  Popery,  side  by  side,  with  Christianity, 
there  may  be  no  bound  to  the  sacred  magnificence  of  her  preservation. 
The  coming  terrors  and  tribulations  of  the  earth  may  but  augment  her 
glory.  Even  in  the  midst  of  thunderings  and  lightnings,  which  appal 
the  tribes  of  earth,  she  may  be  led  up,  like  the  prophet,  to  the  Mount, 
only  to  behold  the  Eternal  Majesty ;  and  when  the  visitation  has  past, 
the  world  may  see  her  coming  forth  from  the  cloud,  her  brow  blazing, 
and  her  hands  holding  the  "  commandments"  of  mankind. 


THE    GREAT   PRICE. 

J.  H.  NEWMAN. 

CHRIST  died,  not  in  order  to  exert  a  peremptory  claim  on  the  divine 
justice,  if  I  may  so  speak, — as  if  He  were  bargaining  in  the  market- 
place or  pursuing  a  plea  in  a  court  of  law, — but  in  a  more  loving, 
generous,  munificent  way,  He  shed  that  blood,  which  was  worth  ten 
thousand  lives  of  men,  worth  more  than  the  blood  of  all  the  sons  of 
Adam  heaped  together,  in  accordance  with  His  Father's  will,  who,  for 
wise  reasons  unrevealed,  exacted  it  as  the  condition  of  their  pardon. 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  279 

Nor  was  this  all ; — one  drop  of  His  blood  had  been  sufficient  to  satisfy 
for  our  sins  ;  He  might  have  offered  His  circumcision  as  an  atonement, 
and  it  would  have  been  sufficient;  one  moment  of  His  agony  of  blood 
had  been  sufficient;  one  stroke  of  the  scourge  might  have  wrought  a 
sufficient  satisfaction.  But  neither  circumcision,  agony,  nor  scourging 
was  our  redemption,  because  He  did  not  offer  them  as  such.  The  price 
He  paid  was  nothing  short  of  the  whole  treasure  of  His  blood,  poured 
forth  to  the  last  drop  from  His  veins  and  sacred  heart.  He  shed  His 
whole  life  for  us  ;  He  left  Himself  empty  of  His  all.  He  left  His  throne 
on  high,  He  gave  up  His  home  on  earth  ;  He  parted  with  His  Mother, 
He  gave  His  strength  and  His  toil,  He  gave  His  body  and  soul,  He 
offered  up  His  passion,  His  crucifixion,  and  His  death,  that  man  should 
not  be  bought  for  nothing.  This  is  what  the  Apostle  intimates  in  say- 
ing that  we  are  "  bought  with  a  great  price  ;"  and  the  Prophet,  while  he 
declares  that  "  with  the  Lord  there  is  mercy,  and  with  Him  a  copious" 
or  "  plenteous  redemption." 

From  "  Newman's  Sermons." 


THE   ENDURANCE   OF   FAITH. 

J.  H.  NEWMAN. 

FAITH  alone  reaches  to  the  end,  faith  only  endures.  Faith  and  prayer 
alone  will  endure  in  that  last  dark  hour,  when  Satan  urges  all  his 
powers  and  resources  against  the  sinking  soul.  What  will  it  avail  us 
then  to  have  devised  some  subtle  argument,  or  to  have  led  some  bril- 
liant attack,  or  to  have  mapped  out  the  field  of  history,  or  to  have 
numbered  and  sorted  the  weapons  of  controversy,  and  to  have  the 
homage  of  friends  and  the  respect  of  the  world,  for  our  successes, — 
what  will  it  avail  to  have  had  a  position,  to  have  followed  out  a  work, 
to  have  reanimated  an  idea,  to  have  made  a  cause  to  triumph,  if  after 
all  we  have  not  the  light  of  faith  to  guide  us  on  from  this  world  to  the 
next?  0  how  fain  shall  we  be  in  that  day  to  change  our  place  with 
the  humblest,  and  dullest,  and  most  ignorant  of  the  sons  of  men,  rather 
than  to  stand  before  the  judgment-seat  in  the  lot  of  him  who  has  received 
great  gifts  from  God,  and  used  them  for  self  and  for  man,  who  has  shut 
his  eyes,  who  has  trifled  with  truth,  who  has  repressed  his  misgivings, 
who  has  been  led  on  by  God's  grace,  but  stopped  short  of  its  scope,  who 
has  neared  the  land  of  promise,  yet  not  gone  forward  to  take  possession 
of  it! 

From  " Newman's  Sermons" 


280  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


THE    MILLENNIUM. 

ARCHBISHOP  WEIATELT. 

IT  is  a  great  consolation  to  us  to  look  forward,  as  I  think  we  are 
authorized  to  do,  to  a  time  when  not  only  the  knowledge  of  the  gospel 
will  be  greatly  extended,  but  also  the  influence  of  the  gospel  on 
Christians'  hearts,  and  tempers,  and  lives — "  the  knowledge  and  love 
of  God,"  and  the  "fruits  of  his  Spirit," — will  be  still  much  more 
increased  ; — when  those  who  are  Christians  in  name,  will  be  much 
less  disposed  to  content  themselves  with  the  name, — much  more 
careful  to  be  Christians  in  principle  and  in  conduct,  than  the  far 
greater  part  of  them  are  now : — when  Christians,  generally,  will  not 
look,  as  they  are  apt  to  do  now,  on  the  apostles  and  others  of  the  early 
Church  whom  it  is  usual  to  distinguish  by  the  title  of  saint,  as  possess- 
ing a  degree  and  a  kind  of  Christian  excellence  which  it  would  be 
vain  and  presumptuous  for  ordinary  Christians  to  think  of  equalling  ; 
but  will  consider  and  practically  remember,  that  all  Christians  are 
"  called  [to  be]  Saints,"  and  endued  with  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God ;  not 
indeed  to  inspire  them  with  a  new  revelation,  or  to  confer  any  miracu- 
lous gifts  (which  do  not  either  prove,  or  make,  the  possessor  the  more 
acceptable  in  God's  sight),  but  to  enable  them  to  purify  their  own 
hearts  and  lives.  The  wicked  Balaam  was  a  prophet ;  and  the  traitor 
Judas  worked  miracles.  These  extraordinary  powers,  therefore,  are 
neither  any  proof  of  superior  personal  holiness,  nor  any  substitute  for 
it  in  God's  sight.  Nor  is  the  absence  of  these  miraculous  gifts  in  our- 
selves, any  argument  that  a  less  degree  of  Christian  virtue  will  suffice 
for  our  salvation,  than  was  required  of  the  apostles. 

Let  us  hope  that  the  time  will  come  when  Christian  privileges  and 
duties  shall  be  generally  viewed  in  this  manner,  and  when  such  views 
shall  be  acted  upon.  Whether  any  of  us  shall  live  to  see  the  begin- 
ning of  such  a  change,  is  more  than  we  can  tell.  Nay,  we  cannot  tell 
whether  each  of  us  may  not  even  be  enabled,  by  his  own  example,  and 
his  own  exertions  in  enlightening  and  improving  others,  to  do  some- 
thing towards  bringing  about  this  change.  But  this  we  do  know  most 
certainly ;  that  each  of  us  is  bound,  in  gratitude  for  Christ's  redeeming 
mercy  ; — in  prudent  care  for  his  own  immortal  soul,— to  labor  earnestly 
for  such  a  change  in  his  own  life  and  heart.  We  are,  each  of  us,  bound, 
at  his  own  peril,  to  think,  and  live,  and  act,  in  such  a  manner,  as  would, 
if  all  Christians  were  to  do  the  same,  bring  about,  and  indeed  constitute, 
this  Millennium  of  Christian  zeal  and  holiness.  And  each  of  us  who 
does  this,  whether  others  follow  his  example  or  not,  "  shall  in  no  wise 
lose  his  own  reward." 

From  "  A  View  of  the  Scripture  Revelations  concerning  a  Future  State." 


DECLAMATIONS  IN  PROSE.  281 

PA^EIOTISM   A   CHEISTIAN   VIETUE. 

IIUNTINGTON. 

PATRIOTISM,  that  is,  when  it  is  a  principle,  and  not  a  mere  blind 
instinct  of  the  blood,  is  an  outgrowth  and  a  part  of  the  faith  and  honor 
of  the  Almighty.  Analyze  it,  and  you  will  see  it  so.  For  patriotism 
is  only  disinterested  devotion  to  the  justice,  the  power,  the  protection, 
the  right,  embodied,  after  a  certain  fashion  and  degree,  in  the  state  and 
its  subjects.  It  is  not  attachment  to  the  parchment  of  a  constitution, 
to  the  letter  of  an  instrument,  to  the  visible  insignia  of  authority,  to  a 
strip  of  painted  cloth  at  a  masthead,  to  a  mass  of  legal  precedents  and 
traditions,  nor  always  to  the  person  of  the  sovereign.  It  is  not  a 
personal  interest  in  the  people  of  the  nation,  for  the  most  of  one's  fellow- 
citizens  are  unknown,  and  the  few  that  are  met  may  awaken  no  special 
regard.  Instituted  ideas, — as  justice,  power,  protection, — organized 
into  a  national  government,  and  lifted  up  for  the  defence  of  the  country, 
are  what  inspire  an  intelligent  loyalty,  and  the  same  ideas  have  their 
perfect  embodiment  in  the  person  of  God.  On  the  other  hand,  religion, 
veneration  for  the  Creator,  involves  a  consistent  regard  for  the  welfare 
of  great  bodies  of  his  family.  By  the  laws  of  the  human  nature  he  has 
fashioned,  this  will  mount  to  enthusiasm,  as  our  relations  to  any  one 
body  grow  intimate,  or  look  back  to  an  antiquity,  or  own  a  history  of 
common  sufferings.  Less  elevated  elements  may  intermix.  But  which- 
ever you  take  first, — the  feeling  for  the  state,  or  for  the  God  of  states, 
— the  other  clings  to  it,  and  comes  logically  with  it. 


KIND   LISTENEES. 

F.  W.  FABEB. 

THERE  is  a  grace  of  kind  listening,  as  well  as  a  grace  of  kind  speak- 
ing. Some  men  listen  with  an  abstracted  air,  which  shows  that  their 
thoughts  are  elsewhere.  Or  they  seem  to  listen,  but,  by  wide  answers 
and  irrelevant  questions,  show  that  they  have  been  occupied  with  their 
own  thoughts,  as  being  more  interesting,  at  least  in  their  own  estima- 
tion, than  what  you  have  been  saying.  Some  listen  with  a  kind  of 
importunate  ferocity,  which  makes  you  feel  that  you  are  being  put 
upon  your  trial,  and  that  your  auditor  expects  beforehand  that  you  are 
going  to  tell  him  a  lie,  or  to  be  inaccurate,  or  to  say  something  which 
he  will  disapprove,  and  that  you  must  mind  your  expressions.  Some 
interrupt,  and  will  not  hear  you  to  the  end.  Some  hear  you  to  the  end, 
and  then  forthwith  begin  to  talk  to  you  about  a  similar  experience 
which  has  befallen  themselves,  making  your  case  only  an  illustration 
of  their  own.  Some,  meaning  to  be  kind,  listen  with  such  a  deter- 
mined, lively,  violent  attention  that  you  are  at  once  made  uncomfort- 
able, and  the  charm  of  conversation  is  at  an  end.  Many  persons, 
24* 


282          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

whose  manners  will  stand  the  test  of  speaking,  break  down  under  the 
trial  of  listening.  But  all  these  things  should  be  ^Drought  under  the 
sweet  influences  of  religion.  Kind  listening  is  often  an  act  of  the  most 
delicate  interior  mortification,  and  is  a  great  assistance  toward  kind 
speaking.  Those  who  govern  others  must  take  care  to  be  kind  listen- 
ers, or  else  they  will  soon  offend  God  and  fall  into  secret  sins. 

From  "  Spiritual  Conferences." 


THE   DESIEE   OF   DEATH. 

F.  W.  FABER. 

FROM  the  fear  of  death  let  us  turn  to  the  desire  of  it.  What  we 
have  said  of  the  fear  of  death  we  may  say  also  of  the  desire  of  death, 
only  we  should  say  it  still  more  emphatically,  that  the  desire  which  is 
part  of  holiness  must  be  rather  a  desire  of  God  than  a  desire  of  death. 
World-weariness  is  a  blessed  thing  in  its  way,  but  it  falls  short  of  being 
a  grace.  To  be  weary  of  the  world  is  very  far  from  being  detached 
from  it.  I  am  not  sure  that  there  is  not  a  weariness  of  the  world 
which  is  itself  a  form  of  worldliness.  World-wearied  men  often  think 
and  speak  of  death  in  a  poetical,  voluptuous  way,  which  is  most  un- 
godly. They  talk  as  if  the  turf  of  the  churchyard  were  a  bed  of  down, 
as  if  the  grassy  ridge  were  a  pillow  on  which  to  lay  our  tired  heads 
and  slumber,  and  as  if  the  grave  were  a  cradle  in  which  we  should  be 
rocked  to  sleep  as  the  earth  swayed,  and  so  voyage  unconsciously 
through  space,  like  a  sleeping  child  in  a  ship  at  sea.  None  but  athe- 
ists could  speak  thus  of  death,  if  those  who  so  speak  really  weighed  their 
words.  Such  men  habitually  regard  death  as  an  end,  and  not  as  a 
beginning.  It  has  been  observed  of  intellectual  men,  that  such  talk- 
ing of  death  is  often  a  symptom  of  incipient  mental  aberration.  It  is 
certainly  true  that  happy  men  more  often  desire  death  than  unhappy 
men,  and  desire  it  more  strongly,  and  that  their  desire  is  more  truthful 
and  more  holy.  An  unhappy  man  desires  death  rather  than  God.  He 
desires  it  with  a  kind  of  heathen  despondency.  He  quotes  the  Odyssey 
and  the  JEneid.  The  pathetic  imagery  of  those  poems  is  more  conge- 
nial to  him  than  the  straightforward  realities  of  Christian  theology. 
He  fixes  his  eye  morbidly  on  death ;  but  he  is  anxious  it  should  riot 
look  over  death  and  beyond  it.  Whereas  a  tf  appy,  light-hearted,  sunny- 
spirited  Christian  man,  who  has  no  quarrel  with  life  except  its  possi- 
bilities of  sinning,  somehow  feels  its  burden  more  than  the  unhappy 
man,  w"ho  clings  to  life  with  a  sort  of  morose,  sulky  enjoyment.  Yet, 
while  the  happy  man  feels  its  burden,  his  happiness  inclines  him  to 
be  eager  for  beginnings  rather  than  to  be  impatient  for  conclusions. 
Thus  death  is  to  him  less  the  end  of  life  than  the  beginning  of  eter- 
nity. He  desires  God  rather  than  death  ;  for  it  is  the  gift  of  a  joyous 
heart  to  find  short  ways  to  God  from  the  most  unlikely  places. 

From  "  Spiritual  Conferences." 


PAKT  II. 

RECITATIONS   IN  POETRY. 


EPIC,  LYKIC,  AND  DESCRIPTIVE. 


HUMAN  LIFE. 

J.  R.  LOWELl 

OVER  his  keys  the  musing  organist, 

Beginning  doubtfully  and  far  away, 
First  lets  his  fingers  wander  as  they  list, 

And  builds  a  bridge  from  Dreamland  for  his  lay : 
Then,  as  the  touch  of  his  loved  instrument 

Gives  hope  and  fervor,  nearer  draws  his  theme, 
First  guessed  by  faint  auroral  flushes  sent 

Along  the  wavering  vista  of  his  dream. 


Not  only  around  our  infancy 
Doth  heaven  with  all  its  splendors  lie ; 
Daily,  with  souls  that  cringe  and  plot, 
We  Sinais  climb  and  know  it  not. 

Over  our  manhood  bend  the  skies ; 

Against  our  fallen  and  traitor  lives 
The  great  winds  utter  prophecies  ; 

With  our  faint  hearts  the  mountain  strives, 
Its  arms  outstretched,  the  druid  wood 

Waits  with  its  benedicite  ; 
And  to  our  age's  drowsy  blood 

Still  shouts  the  inspiring  sea. 
Earth  gets  its  price  for  what  Earth  gives  us ; 

The  beggar  is  taxed  for  a  corner  to  die  in, 
The  priest  hath  his  fee  who  comes  and  shrives  us, 

We  bargain  for  the  graves  we  lie  in ; 
At  the  devil's  booth  are  all  things  sold, 
Each  ounce  of  dross  costs  its  ounce  of  gold ; 

(283) 


284  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking : 

'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'Tis  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking, 
No  price  is  set  on  the  lavish  summer ; 
June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer. 
And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days ; 
Then  heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays : 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten ; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers ; 
The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys  ; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green, 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice, 
And  there's  never  a  leaf  nor  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace  ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives  ; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings  ; 
He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest, — 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best  ? 

From  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal? 


THE    BUKIAL   AT   GETTYSBUKG. 

E.  A.  WASHBUBNE,  D.  D 
A  VOICE  as  of  the  ocean  surge ! 

I  see  a  mighty  nation  tread, 
With  banners  drooped  and  funeral  dirge, 

Within  the  city  of  the  dead. 
On  yonder  slope,  but  yesterday, 
Clashed  steel  with  steel,  and  breast  with  breast ; 
And  tossed  the  battle's  blood-red  spray 
O'er  hosts  who  now  in  silence  rest. 

Kneel,  motherland  !  in  broken  prayer 
To  kiss  the  dear,  the  holy  ground ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  285 

See  strong  men  weep  like  children,  there, 
Spelling  in  vain  each  nameless  mound; 
And  far,  by  Erie's  waters  deep, 
Or  mid  the  solemn  woods  of  Maine, 
The  gray  sire  dreams,  in  troubled  sleep, 
Of  one  who  comes  not  home  again. 

Sword  of  the  Lord  ! — that  cry  of  woe 
From  many  a  bleeding  wound  shall  start — 

Eest  in  thy  scabbard,  rest !  Ah,  no ! 
While  traitors  stab  a  mother's  heart ! 

As  breaks  the  thunder's  gathered  roar, 

I  hear — 1  hear  a  nation's  cry 

From  stormy  cliff  and  sounding  shore : 

No  Peace,  no  Peace,  till  Treason  die ! 

No !  by  the  sacred  toils  of  all 

Who  laid  with  no  cement  but  truth 
The  stones  of  our  Cyclopean  wall ; 

No  !  by  a  people's  giant  youth  ; 
No !  by  the  red  blood  crime  hath  spilt ; 
No  !  by  this  heirdom  of  the  free  : 
Bare  the  bright  sword,  swear  on  the  hilt, 
These  years  of  wrong  no  more  shall  be  ! 

Chaunt  ye  not  now  the  Requiem  sad ; 

Lift  ye  the  War-song  clear  and  high  ; 
Sing  till  it  stir  the  sleepers  glad 

Who  'neath  these  crowded  hillocks  lie. 
Sing,  motherland  !  ye  peaks  that  bloom 
With  wreaths  of  the  eternal  snow ; 
Ye  primal  forests,  in  whose  womb 
Navies  of  oak  and  iron  grow. 

Sing,  prairies  rich  with  nobler  grains, 

Of  bearded  men,  of  freeborn  sons  ! 
And  thou,  great  river,  through  whose  veins 

The  life-blood  of  our  heroes  runs ; 
More  than  the  yellow  Tiber's  wave 
Thy  banks  shall  gleam  with  deathless  fame, 
Sing,  with  thy  torrents,  of  the  brave 
Who  died  to  keep  a  nation's  spotless  name ! 


THE   SKIES. 

MABT  E.  LEB. 
THE  skies !  the  festal  skies 

Of  a  laughing  summer  morn ! 
Some  love  the  dazzling  glory 
That  with  their  light  is  born, 


286  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

And  gaze,  with  ravished  sense,  upon 

The  shadowless  expanse, 
Where  not  one  tissued  cloud  is  seen 

To  dim  its  radiance. 

While  others  joy  to  catch 

The  fulness  of  its  smile, 
When  at  his  evening  portal, 

The  Day  God  rests  awhile, 
To  tint  with  matchless  coloring 

The  ether's  fluid  tide, 
That  round  this  prison  sphere  of  ours 

Floods  out  on  either  side. 

And  midnight's  solemn  sky, 

Like  a  blue  curtain  hung, 
And  studded  with  bright  star-gems, 

As  diamonds  yet  unstrung, 
Is  tilled  through  its  wide  concave 

With  echoes  of  the  strain, 
Breathed  out  by  hosts  of  worshippers 

From  earth's  extended  fane. 

Each  has  its  charm,  but  oh  ! 

Not  such,  not  such  for  me ; 
Morn's  skies  reveal  a  brightness 

That  wakes  too  much  of  glee  ; 
Eve's  firmament  too  holy  seems 

For  unison  with  earth, 
And  oft  beneath  still  midnight's  vault, 

Wild,  startling  thoughts  have  birth. 

Oh !  rather  would  I  choose, 

If  but  the  choice  were  mine, 
Those  skies,  where  cloud  and  sunshine 

In  fitfulness  combine, 
Where  midday's  glare  is  softened,  as 

By  sudden  phantom-wings, 
And  through  night's  net-work  veil,  the  stars 

Look  down,  like  loving  things. 

The  heart !  the  human  heart ! 

How,  everywhere,  it  turns 
To  drink  in  blessed  sympathy 

From  nature's  mystic  urns; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  287 

And  ah  !  methinks  no  emblem 

Is  fitter  found  for  life, 
With  all  its  changes,  than  a  sky 

Where  light  and  shade  hold  strife. 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY. 

THOMAS  MILLER. 

TREAD  lightly  here !  this  spot  is  holy  ground, 

And  every  footfall  wakes  the  voice  of  ages : 
These  are  the  mighty  dead  that  hem  thee  round, 

Names  that  still  cast  a  halo  o'er  our  pages : 
Listen  !  'tis  Fame's  loud  voice  that  now  complains, 
"  Here  sleeps  more  sacred  dust,  than  all  the  world  contains." 

Thou  mayst  bend  o'er  each  marble  semblance  now : 
That  was  a  monarch, — see  how  mute  he  lies  ! 

There  was  a  day  when,  on  his  crumbling  brow, 
The  golden  crown  flashed  awe  on  vulgar  eyes ; 

That  broken  hand  did  then  a  sceptre  sway, 

And  thousands  round  him  kneeled  his  mandates  to  obey, 

Turn  to  the  "time,  when  he  thus  low  was  laid 

Within  this  narrow  house,  in  proud  array ; 
Dirges  were  sung,  and  solemn  masses  said, 

And  high-plumed  helms  bent  o'er  him  as  he  lay ; 
Princes  and  peers  were  congregated  here, 
And  all  the  pomp  of  death  assembled  round  his  bier. 

Then  did  the  mid-night  torches  flaming  wave, 
And  redly  flashed  athwart  the  vaulted  gloom  ; 

And  white-robed  boys  sang  requiems  o'er  his  grave ; 
And  muttering  monks  kneeled  lowly  round  his  tomb ; 

And  lovely  women  did  his  loss  deplore, 

And,  with  their  gushing  tears,  bathed  the  cold  marble  floor. 

See !  at  his  head,  a  rude-carved  lion  stands, 
In  the  dark  niche  where  never  sunbeams  beat ; 

And  still  he  folds  his  supplicating  hands : 
A  watchful  dragon  cronches  at  his  feet, — 

How  oddly  blended ! — He  all  humble  lies, 

While  they  defiance  cast  from  their  fierce  stony  eyes. 


288          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Here  sleeps  another,  clothed  in  scaly  mail ; 

Battle's  red  field  was  where  he  loved  to  be ; 
Oft  has  his  banner  rustled  in  the  gale, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  blazing  heraldry  ! 
Where  are  his  bowmen  now,  his  shield,  and  spear, 
His  steed,  and  battle  axe,  and  all  he  once  held  dear? 

His  banner  wasted  on  the  castle  wall, 

His  lofty  turrets  sunk  by  slow  decay  ; 
His  bowmen  in  the  beaten  field  did  fall, 

His  plated  armor,  rust  hath  swept  away ; 
His  plumes  are  scattered,  and  his  helmet  cleft, 
And  this  slow-crumbling  tomb  is  all  he  now  hath  left. 

And  this  is  fame !     For  this  he  fought  and  bled  ! 

See*  his  reward  ! — No  matter ;  let  him  rest ; 
Vacant  and  dark  is  now  his  ancient  bed, 

The  dust  of  ages  dims  his  marble  breast ; 
And,  in  that  tomb,  what  thinkest  thou  reniains  ? 
Dust !  'tis  the  only  glory,  that  on  earth  man  gains. 

And  kings,  and  queens,  here  slumber,  side  by  side, 
Their  quarrels  hushed  in  the  embrace  of  death  ; 

All  feelings  calmed  of  jealousy  or  pride, 

Once  fanned  to  flame  by  Slander's  burning  breath  ; 

Even  the  crowns  they  wear  from  cares  are  free, 

As  those  on  children's  heads,  who  play  at  royalty. 

And  awful  Silence  here  does  ever  linger ; 

Her  dwelling  is  this  many-pillared  dome ; 
On  her  wan  lip  she  plants  her  stony  finger, 

And,  breath-hushed,  gazes  on  her  voiceless  home  ; 
Listening,  she  stands,  with  half  averted  head, 
For  echoes  never  heard  among  the  mute-tongued  dead. 

From  "Friendship's  0/ering.' 


DON   GARZIA. 

ROGERS. 

AMONG  those  awful  forms,  in  elder  time 
Assembled,  and  through  many  an  after-age 
Destined  to  stand  as  genii  of  the  Place 
Where  men  most  meet  in  Florence,  may  be  seen 
His  who  first  played  the  tyrant.     Clad  in  mail, 
But  with  his  helmet  off — in  kingly  state, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  289 

Aloft  he  sits  upon  his  horse  of  brass  ; 

And  they,  that  read  the  legend  underneath, 

Go  and  pronounce  him  happy.     Yet,  methinks, 

There  is  a  chamber  that,  if  walls  could  speak, 

Would  turn  their  admiration  into  pity. 

Half  of  what  passed  died  with  him  ;  but  the  rest. 

All  he  discovered  when  the  fit  was  on, 

All  that,  by  those  who  listened,  could  be  gleaned 

From  broken  sentences  and  starts  in  sleep, 

Is  told,  and  by  an  honest  chronicler. 

Two  of  his  sons,  Giovanni  and  Garzia, 
(The  eldest  had  not  seen  his  nineteenth  summer,) 
Went  to  the  chase ;  but  only  one  returned. 
Giovanni,  when  the  huntsman  blew  his  horn 
O'er  the  last  stag  that  started  from  the  brake, 
And  in  the  heather  turned  to  stand  at  bay, 
Appeared  not,  and  at  close  of  day  was  found 
Bathed  in  his  innocent  blood.     Too  well,  alas  ! 
The  trembling  Cosmo  guessed  the  deed,  the  doer ; 
And,  having  caused  the  body  to  be  borne 
In  secret  to  that  chamber,  at  an  hour 
When  all  slept  sound,  save  she  who  bore  them  both, 
Who  little  thought  of  what  was  yet  to  come, 
And  lived  but  to  be  told — he  bade  Garzia 
Arise  and  follow  him.     Holding  in  one  hand 
A  winking  lamp,  and  in  the  other  a  key, 
Massive  and  dungeon-like,  thither  he  led ; 
And,  having  entered  in,  and  locked  the  door, 
The  father  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  son, 
And  closely  questioned  him.     No  change  betrayed, 
Or  guilt,  or  fear.     Then  Cosmo  lifted  up 
The  bloody  sheet.    "  Look  there !  Look  there !"  he  cried, 
"  Blood  calls  for  blood — and  from  a  father's  hand  ! 
Unless  thyself  will  save  him  that  sad  office. 
What  1"  he  exclaimed,  when,  shuddering  at  the  sight, 
The  boy  breathed  out,  "  I  stood  but  on  my  guard." 
"  Barest  thou  then  blacken  one  who  never  wronged  thee, 
Who  would  not  set  his  foot  upon  a  worm  ? 
Yes,  ,thou  must  die,  lest  others  fall  by  thee, 
And  thou  shouldst  be  the  slayer  of  us  all." 
Then  from  Garzia's  belt  he  drew  the  blade, 
That  fatal  one  which  spilt  his  brother's  blood ; 
And,  kneeling  on  the  ground,  "  Great  God  I"  he  cried, 
"  Grant  me  the  strength  to  do  an  act  of  justice. 
25  T 


290   .       THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Thou  knowest  what  it  costs  me  ;  but,  alas  ! 
How  can  I  spare  myself,  sparing  none  else  ? 
Grant  me  the  strength,  the  will — and  oh  !  forgive 
The  sinful  soul  of  a  most  wretched  son. 
'Tis  a  most  wretched  father  who  implores  it." 
Long  on  Garzia's  neck  he  hung  and  wept, 
Long  pressed  him  to  his  bosom  tenderly ; 
And  then,  but  while  he  held  him  by  the  arm, 
Thrusting  him  backward,  turned  away  his  face, 
And  stabbed  him  to  the  heart. 

Well  might  a  youth, 

Studious  of  men,  anxious  to  learn  and  know, 
When  in  the  train  of  some  great  embassy 
He  came,  a  visitant,  to  Cosmo's  court, 
Think  on  the  past ;  and,  as  he  wandered  through 
The  ample  spaces  of  an  ancient  house, 
Silent,  deserted — stop  awhile  to  dwell 
Upon  two  portraits  there,  drawn  on  the  wall 
Together,  as  of  Two  in  bonds  of  love, 
Those  of  the  unhappy  brothers,  and  conclude, 
From  the  sad  looks  of  him  who  could  have  told 
The  terrible  truth.    Well  might  he  heave  a  sigh 
For  poor  humanity,  when  he  beheld 
That  very  Cosmo  shaking  o'er  his  fire, 
Drowsy,  and  deaf,  and  inarticulate, 
Wrapped  in  his  night-gown,  o'er  a  sick  man's  mess, 
In  the  last  stage — death-struck  and  deadly  pale, 
His  wife,  another,  not  his  Eleanor, 
At  once  his  nurse  and  his  interpreter. 


BEQUIEM. 

JULIA  R  McMASTEBS. 

LOWLY,  shining  head,  where  we  lay  thee  down 
With  the  lowly  dead,  droop  thy  golden  crown ! 

Meekly,  marble  palms,  fold  across  the  breast, 
Sculptured  in  white  calms  of  unbreaking  rest ! 

Softly,  starry  eyes,  veil  your  darkened  spheres, 
Nevermore  to  rise  in  summershine  or  tears  ! 

Calmly,  crescent  lips,  yield  your  dewy  rose 
To  the  wan  eclipse  of  this  pale  repose  ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  291 

Slumber,  aural  shells  !     No  more  dying  Even 
Through  your  spiral  cells  weaveth  gales  of  heaven. 

Stilly,  slender  feet,  rest  from  rosy  rhyme, 
With  the  ringing  sweet  of  her  silver  clime ! 

Holy  smile  of  God,  spread  the  glory  mild 
Underneath  the  sod  on  this  little  child ! 


ADDKESS  TO   LIGHT. 

MILTON. 
HAIL  holy  light !  offspring  of  heaven  first-born ; 

Or  of  th'  Eternal,  co-eternal  beam 

May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?  since  God  is  light, 

And  never  but  in  unapproaehed  light 

Dwelt  from  eternity,  dwelt  then  in  thee, 

Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate. 

Or  hearest  thou  rather  pure  ethereal  stream, 

Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell  ?  before  the  sun, 

Before  the  heavens  thou  wert,  and  at  the  voice 

Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle,  didst  invest 

The  rising  world  of  waters  dark  and  deep, 

Won  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite. 

Thee  I  revisit  now  with  bolder  wing, 

Escaped  the  Stygian  pool,  though  long  detained 

In  that  obscure  sojourn,  while  in  my  flight 

Through  utter  and  through  middle  darkness  borne. 

With  other  notes,  than  to  th'  Orphean  lyre, 

I  sung  of  Chaos  and  eternal  Night, 

Taught  by  the  heavenly  Muse  to  venture  down 

The  dark  descent,  and  up  to  reascend, 

Though  hard  and  rare :  thee  I  revisit  safe, 

And  feel  thy  sovereign  vital  lamp ;  but  thou 

Revisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 

To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn  ; 

So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quenched  their  orbs, 

Or  dim  suffusion  veiled.     Yet  not  the  more 

Cease  I  to  wander  where  the  Muses  haunt 

Clear  spring,  or  shady  grove,  or  sunny  hill, 

Smit  with  the  love  of  sacred  song ;  but  chief, 

Thee  Sion,,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath, 

That  wash  thy  hallowed  feet,  and  warbling  flow, 

Nightly  I  visit ;  nor  sometimes  forget 

Those  other  two  equalled  with  me  in  fate. 


292          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

So  were  I  equalled  with  them  in  renown, 

Blind  Thamyris  and  blind  Mseonides, 

And  Tiresias  and  Phineus  prophets  old. 

Then  feed  on  thoughts,  that  voluntary  move 

Harmonious  numbers ;  as  the  wakeful  bird 

Sings  darkling,  and  in  shadiest  covert  hid 

Tunes  her  nocturnal  note :  thus  with  the  year 

Seasons  return,  but  not  to  me  returns 

Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  morn, 

Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 

Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine  ; 

But  cloud  instead,  and  ever-during  dark 

Surrounds  me,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 

Cut  off,  and  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair 

Presented  with  a  universal  blank 

Of  nature's  works  to  me  expunged  and  rased, 

And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out. 

So  much  the  rather  thou  celestial  Light 

Shine  inward,  and  the  mind  through  all  her  powers 

Irradiate ;  there  plant  eyes,  all  mist  from  thence 

Purge  and  disperse,  that  I  may  see  and  tell 

Of  things  invisible  to  mortal  sight. 


From  "Paradise  Lost!' 


ETERNAL   TRUTH. 

COWPER. 

ALL  truth  is  from  the  sempiternal  source 
Of  Light  Divine.     But  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome 
Drew  from  the  stream  below.     More  favored,  we 
Drink,  when  we  choose  it,  at  the  fountain  head. 
To  them  it  flowed  much  mingled  and  denied 
"With  hurtful  error,  prejudice,  and  dreams 
Illusive  of  philosophy,  so  called, 
But  falsely.     Sages  after  sages  strove 
In  vain  to  filter  off  a  crystal  draught 
Pure  from  the  lees,  which  often  more  enhanced 
The  thirst  than  slaked  it,  and  not  seldom  bred 
Intoxication  and  delirium  wild. 
In  vain  they  pushed  inquiry  to  the  birth 
And  springtime  of  the  world  ;  asked,  Whence  is  man  ? 
Why  formed  at  all  ?  and  wherefore  as  he  is  ? 
Where  must  he  find  his  Maker  ?  with  what  rites 
Adore  him  ?     Will  he  hear,  accept,  and  bless  ? 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  293 

Or  does  he  sit  regardless  of  his  works  ? 

Has  man  within  him  an  immortal  seed  ? 

Or  does  the  tomb  take  all  ?     If  he  survive 

His  ashes,  where  ?  and  in  what  weal  or  woe  ? 

Knots  worthy  of  solution,  which  alone 

A  Deity  could  solve.     Their  answers,  vague 

And  all  at  random,  fabulous  and  dark, 

Left  them  as  dark  themselves.     Their  rules  of  life, 

Defective  and  unsanctioned,  proved  too  weak 

To  bind  the  roving  appetite,  and  lead 

Blind  nature  to  a  God  not  yet  revealed, 

7Tis  Revelation  satisfies  all  doubts, 

Explains  all  mysteries,  except  her  own, 

And  so  illuminates  the  path  of  life, 

That  fools  discover  it,  and  stray  no  more. 

Now  tell  me,  dignified  and  sapient  sir, 

My  man  of  morals,  nurtured  in  the  shades 

Of  Academus — is  this  false  or  true  ? 

Is  Christ  the  abler  teacher,  or  the  schools  ? 

If  Christ,  then  why  resort  at  every  turn 

To  Athens  or  to  Rome,  for  wisdom  short 

Of  man's  occasions,  when  in  him  reside 

Grace,  knowledge,  comfort — an  unfathomed  store? 

How  oft,  when  Paul  has  served  us  with  a  text, 

Has  Epictetus,  Plato,  Tully,  preached  I 

Men  that,  if  now  alive,  would  sit  content 

And  humble  learners  of  a  Saviour's  worth, 

Preach  it  who  might.     Such  was  their  love  of  truth, 

Their  thirst  of  knowledge,  and  their  candor  too  ! 


COUNTRY  AND  TOWN. 

COWPER. 

GOD  made  the  country,  and  man  made  the  town. 
What  wonder  then  that  health  and  virtue,  gifts 
That  can  alone  make  sweet  the  bitter  draught 
That  life  holds  out  to  all,  should  most  abound 
And  least  be  threatened  in  the  fields  and  groves  ? 
Possess  ye,  therefore,  ye  who,  borne  about 
In  chariots  and  sedans,  know  no  fatigue 
But  that  of  idleness,  and  taste  no  scenes 
But  such  as  art  contrives,  possess  ye  still 
Your  element ;  there  only  can  ye  shine ; 
25* 


294          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

There  only  minds  like  yours  can  do  no  harm. 
Our  groves  were  planted  to  console  at  noon ; 
The  pensive  wanderer  in  their  shades.     At  eve 
The  moonbeam,  sliding  softly  in  between 
The  sleeping  leaves,  is  all  the  light  they  wish, 
Birds  warbling  all  the  music.     We  can  spare 
The  splendor  of  your  lamps  ;  they  but  eclipse 
Our  softer  satellite.     Your  songs  confound 
Our  more  harmonious  notes :  the  thrush  departs 
Scared,  and  the  offended  nightingale  is  mute. 
There  is  a  public  mischief  in  your  mirth  ; 
It  plagues  your  country.     Folly  such  as  yours, 
Graced  with  a  sword,  and  worthier  of  a  fan, 
Has  made,  what  enemies  could  ne'er  have  done, 
Our  arch  of  empire,  steadfast  but  for  you, 
A  mutilated  structure,  soon  to  fall. 


THE  BULL-FIGHT. 

BTBQN. 

HUSHED  is  the  din  of  tongues — on  gallant  steeds, 
With  milk-white  crest,  gold-spur,  and  light-poised  lan.ce, 
Four  cavaliers  prepare  for  venturous  deeds, 
And  lowly  bending  to  the  lists  advance  ; 
Rich  are  their  scarfs,  their  chargers  featly  prance : 
If  in  the  dangerous  game  they  shine  to-day, 
The  crowd's  loud  shout  and  ladies'  lovely  glance, 
Best  prize  of  better  acts,  they  bear  away, 
And  all  that  kings  or  chiefs  e'er  gain  their  toils  repay. 

In  costly  sheen  and  gaudy  cloak  arrayed, 
But  all  afoot,  the  light-limbed  Matadore 
Stands  in  the  centre,  eager  to  invade 
The  lord  of  lowing  herds  ;  but  not  before 
The  ground,  with  cautious  tread,  is  traversed  o'er, 
Lest  aught  unseen  should  lurk  to  thwart  his  speed  •. 
His  arms  a  dart,  he  fights  aloof,  nor  more 
Can  man  achieve  without  the  friendly  steed — 
Alas  1  too  oft  condemned  for  him  to  bear  and  bleed. 

Thrice  sounds  the  clarion  ;  lo  1  the  signal  falls, 
The  den  expands,  and  Expectation  mute 
Gapes  round  the  silent  circle's  peopled  walls. 
Bounds  with  one  lashing  spring  the  mighty  brute, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  295 

And,  wildly  staring,  spurns,  with  sounding  foot, 
The  sand,  nor  blindly  rushes  on  his  foe ; 
Here,  there,  he  points  his  threatening  front,  to  suit 
His  first  attack,  wide  waving  to  and  fro 
His  angry  tail ;  red  rolls  his  eye's  dilated  glow. 

Sudden  he  stops ;  his  eye  is  fixed  :  away, 
Away,  thou  heedless  boy !  prepare  the  spear : 
Now  is  thy  time,  to  perish,  or  display 
The  skill  that  yet  may  check  his  mad  career. 
With  well-timed  croupe  the  nimble  coursers  veer ; 
On  foams  the  bull,  but  not  unscathed  he  goes  ; 
Streams  from  his  flank  the  crimson  torrent  clear : 
He  flies,  he  wheels,  distracted  with  his  throes  ; 
Dart  follows  dart ;  lance,  lance ;  loud  bellowftigs  speak  his  woes. 

Again  he  comes  ;  nor  dart  nor  lance  avail, 
Nor  the  wild  plunging  of  the  tortured  horse  ; 
Though  man,  and  man's  avenging  arms  assail, 
Vain  are  his  weapons,  vainer  is  his  force. 
One  gallant  steed  is  stretched  a  mangled  corse ; 
Another,  hideous  sight !  unseamed  appears, 
His  gory  chest  unveils  life's  panting  source ; 
Though  death-struck,  still  his  feeble  frame  he  rears, 
Staggering,  but  stemming  all,  his  lord  unharmed  he  bears. 

Foiled,  bleeding,  breathless,  furious  to  the  last, 
Full  in  the  centre  stands  the  bull  at  bay, 
'Mid  wounds,  and  clinging  darts,  and  lances  brast, 
And  foes  disabled  in  the  brutal  fray ; 
And  now  the  Matadores  around  him  play, 
Shake  the  red  cloak,  and  poise  the  ready  brand : 
Once  more  through  all  he  bursts  his  thundering  way : 
Vain  rage !  the  mantle  quits  the  conynge  hand, 
"Wraps  his  fierce  eye — 'tis  past — he  sinks  upon  the  sandl 

Where  his  vast  neck  just  mingles  with  the  spine, 
Sheathed  in  his  form  the  deadly  weapon  lies. 
He  stops — he  starts — disdaining  to  decline: 
Slowly  he  falls,  amidst  triumphant  cries, 
Without  a  groan,  without  a  struggle,  dies. 
The  decorated  car  appears — on  high 
The  corse  is  piled — sweet  sight  for  vulgar  eyes — 
Four  steeds  that  spurn  the  rein,  as  swift  as  shy, 
Hurl  the  dark  bulk  along,  scarce  seen  in  dashing  by. 


296  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


THE   COLISEUM. 

BTBOH. 

A  RUIN — yet  what  ruin !  from  its  mass 
Walls,  palaces,  half-cities  have  been  reared ; 
Yet  oft  the  enormous  skeleton  ye  pass, 
And  marvel  where  the  spoil  could  have  appeared. 
Hath  it  indeed  been  plundered,  or  but  cleared  ? 
Alas  !  developed,  opens  the  decay, 
When  the  colossal  fabric's  form  is  neared ; 
It  will  not  bear  the  brightness  of  the  day, 
Which  streams  too  much  on  all  years,  man,  have  reft  away. 

But  when  the  rising  moon  begins  to  climb 
Its  topmost  arch,  and  gently  pauses  there  ; 
When  the  stars  twinkle  through  the  loops  of  time, 
And  the  low  night-breeze  waves  along  the  air 
The  garland-forest,  which  the  gray  walls  wear, 
Like  laurels  on  the  bald  first  Caesar's  head ; 
When  the  light  shines  serene  but  doth  not  glare, 
Then  in  this  magic  circle  raise  the  dead : 
Heroes  have  trod  this  spot — 'tis  on  their  dust  ye  tread. 

"  While  stands  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  stand  ; 
When  falls  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  fall ; 
And  when  Rome  falls — the  World."     From  our  own  land 
Thus  spake  the  pilgrims  o'er  this  mighty  wall 
In  Saxon  times,  which  we  are  wont  to  call 
Ancient ;  and  these  three  mortal  things  are  still 
On  their  foundations,  and  unaltered  all ; 
Rome  and  her  Ruin  past  Redemption's  skill, 
The  World,  the  same  wide  den — of  thieves,  or  what  ye  will. 

Simple,  erect,  severe,  austere,  sublime- 
Shrine  of  all  saints  and  temple  of  all  gods, 
From  Jove  to  Jesus — spared  and  blest  by  time ; 
Looking  tranquillity,  while  falls  or  nods 
Arch,  empire,  each  thing  round  thee,  and  man  plods 
His  way  through  thorns  to  ashes — glorious  dome  ! 
Shalt  thou  not  last?     Time's  scythe  and  tyrant's  rods 
Shiver  upon  thee — sanctuary  and  home 
Of  art  and  Piety — Pantheon  ! — pride  of  Rome  ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  297 

THE   DESTINY   OF   AMERICA. 

BRYANT. 
HERE  the  free  spirit  of  mankind,  at  length, 

Throws  its  last  fetters  off;  and  who  shall  place 
A  limit  to  the  giant's  unchained  strength, 
Or  curb  his  swiftness  iri  the  forward  race  ? 
Far  like  the  comet's  way  through  infinite  space, 
Stretches  the  long  untravelled  path  of  light, 
Into  the  depths  of  ages  :  we  may  trace, 
Distant,  the  brightening  glory  of  its  flight, 
Till  the  receding  rays  are  lost  to  human  sight. 

Europe  is  given  a  prey  to  sterner  fates, 
And  writhes  in  shackles ;  strong  the  arms  that  chain 
To  earth  her  struggling  multitude  of  states ; 
She  too  is  strong,  and  might  not  chafe  in  vain 
Against  them,  but  shake  off  the  vampyre  train 
That  batten  on  her  blood,  and  break  their  net. 
Yes,  ye  shall  look  on  brighter  days,  and  gain 
The  meed  of  worthier  deeds  ;  the  moment  set 
To  rescue  and  raise  up,  draws  near — but  is  not  yet. 

But  thou,  my  country,  thou  shalt  never  fall, 
But  with  thy  children — thy  maternal  care, 
Thy  lavish  love,  thy  blessings  showered  on  all — 
These  are  thy  fetters — seas  and  stormy  air 
Are  the  wide  barrier  of  thy  borders,  where 
Among  thy  gallant  sons  that  guard  thee  well, 
Thou  laugh'st  at  enemies :  who  shall  then  declare 
The  date  of  thy  deep-founded  strength,  or  tell 
How  happy,  in  thy  lap,  the  sons  of  men  shall  dwell  ? 

From  "  The  Ages." 


RELIGION. 

Youio. 
RELIGION'S  all.     Descending  from  the  skies 

To  wretched  man,  the  goddess  in  her  left 
Holds  out  this  world,  and  in  her  right  the  next. 
Religion  !  the  sole  voucher  man  is  man  ; 
Supporter  sole  of  man  above  himself: 
Even  in  this  night  of  frailty,  change  and  death, 
She  gives  the  soul  a  soul  that  acts  a  God. 
Religion  !    Providence !  an  after-state ! 


298          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Here  is  firm  footing  ;  here  is  solid  rock  ; 
This  can  support  us ;  all  is  sea  besides  ; 
Sinks  under  us  ;  bestortns,  and  then  devours. 
His  hand  the  good  man  fastens  on  the  skies, 
And  bids  earth  roll,  nor  feels  her  idle  whirl. 

Keligion  1  thou  the  soul  of  happiness  ; 
And  groaning  Calvary,  of  thee !     There  shine 
The  noblest  truths  ;  there  strongest  motives  sting ; 
There,  sacred  violence  assaults  the  soul ; 
There,  nothing  but  compulsion  is  forborne. 
Can  love  allure  us  ?  or  can  terror  awe  ? 
He  weeps  ! — the  falling  drops  put  out  the  sun: 
He  sighs ! — the  sigh  earth's  deep  foundation  shakes. 
If,  in  his  love,  so  terrible,  what  then 
His  wrath  inflamed  ?  his  tenderness  on  fire  ; 
Like  soft,  smooth  oil,  outblazing  other  fires  ? 
Can  prayer,  can  praise  avert  it  ? — Thou,  my  all ! 
My  theme  !  my  inspiration  !   and  my  crown  ! 
My  strength  in  age !  my  rise  in  low  estate  ! 
My  soul's  ambition,  pleasure,  wealth  ! — my  world ! 
My  light  in  darkness  !   and  my  life  in  death  ! 
My  boast  through  time  !   bliss  through  eternity  ! 
Eternity,  too  short  to  speak  Thy  praise ! 
Or  fathom  Thy  profound  of  love  to  man ! 
To  man,  of  men  the  meanest,  even  to  me ; 
My  Sacrifice !  my  God  ! — what  things  are  these  ! 

From  "  Night  Thoughts." 


TO   THE   PAST. 

BRYANT. 
THOU  unrelenting  Past ! 

Strong  are  the  barriers  round  thy  dark  domain, 

And  fetters,  sure  and  fast, 
Hold  all  that  enter  thy  unbreathing  reign. 

Far  in  thy  realm  withdrawn 
Old  empires  sit  in  sullenness  and  gloom, 

And  glorious  ages  gone, 
Lie  deep  within  the  shadow  of  thy  womb. 

Childhood,  with  all  its  mirth, 
Youth,  Manhood,  Age,  that  draws  us  to  the  ground, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  299 

And  last,  Man's  Life  on  earth, 
Glide  to  thy  dim  dominions,  and  are  bound. 

Thou  hast  my  better  years, 
Thou  hast  my  earlier  friends — the  good — the  kind, 

Yielded  to  thee  with  tears — 
The  venerable  form — the  exalted  mind. 

My  spirit  yearns  to  bring 
The  lost  ones  back — yearns  with  desire  intense, 

And  struggles  hard  to  wring 
Thy  bolts  apart,  and  pluck  thy  captives  thence. 

In  vain — thy  gates  deny 
All  passage  save  to  those  who  hence  depart ; 

Nor  to  the  streaming  eye 
Thou  givest  them  back — nor  to  the  broken  heart. 

In  thy  abysses  hide 
Beauty  and  excellence  unknown — to  thee 

Earth's  wonder  and  her  pride 
Are  gathered,  as  the  waters  to  the  sea. 

Labors  of  good  to  man, 
Unpublished  charity,  unbroken  faith, — 

Love,  that  midst  grief  began, 
And  grew  with  years,  and  faltered  not  in  death. 

Full  many  a  mighty  name, 
Lurks  in  thy  depths,  unuttered,  unrevered, 

With  thee  are  silent  fame, 
Forgotten  arts,  and  wisdom  disappeared. 

Thine  for  a  space  are  they — 
Yet  shalt  thou  yield  thy  treasures  up  at  last. 

Thy  gates  shall  yet  give  way, 
Thy  bolts  shall  fall,  inexorable  Past! 

All  that  of  good  and  fair 
Has  gone  into  thy  womb  from  earliest  time, 

Shall  then  come  forth,  to  wear 
The  glory  and  the  beauty  of  its  prime. 

They  have  not  perished — no  1 
Kind  words,  remembered  voices  once  so  sweet, 


300  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Smiles,  radiant  long  ago, 
And  features,  the  great  soul's  apparent  seat. 

All  shall  come  back,  each  tie 
Of  pure  affection  shall  be  knit  again  ; 

Alone  shall  Evil  die, 
And  Sorrow  dwell  a  prisoner  in  thy  reign. 

And  then  shall  I  behold 
Him,  by  whose  kind  paternal  side  I  sprung, 

And  her,  who  still  and  cold, 
Fills  the  next  grave — the  beautiful  and  young. 


ADONAIS. 

SHEUXT. 
HERE  pause :  these  graves  are  all  too  young  as  yet 

To  have  outgrown  the  sorrow  which  consigned 
Its  charge  to  each  ;  and  if  the  seal  is  set, 
Here,  on  one  fountain  of  a  mourning  mind, 
Break  it  not  thou !  too  surely  shalt  thou  find 
Thine  own  well  full,  if  thou  returnest  home, 
Of  tears  and  gall.     From  the  world's  bitter  wind 
Seek  shelter  in  the  shadow  of  the  tomb. 
What  Adonais  is,  why  fear  we  to  become  ? 

The  One  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass  ; 
Heaven's  light  for  ever  shines,  Earth's  shadows  fly ; 
Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-colored  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  Eternity, 
Until  Death  tramples  it  to  fragments. — Die, 
If  thou  wouldst  be  with  that  which  thou  dost  seek  ! 
Follow  where  all  is  fled  ! — Rome's  azure  sky, 
Flowers,  ruins,  statues,  music,  words  are  weak 
The  glory  they  transfuse  with  fitting  truth  to  speak. 

Why  linger,  why  turn  back,  why  shrink,  my  Heart  ? 
Thy  hopes  are  gone  before :  from  all  things  here 
They  have  departed  ;  thou  shouldst  now  depart ! 
A  light  is  past  from  the  revolving  year, 
And  man,  and  woman  ;  and  what  still  is  dear 
Attracts  to  crush,  repels  to  make  thee  wither. 
The  soft  sky  smiles, — the  low  wind  whispers  near : 
'Tis  Adonais  calls  !  oh,  hasten  thither, 
No  more  let  Life  divide  what  Death  can  join  together 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  301 

That  light  whose  smile  kindles  the  Universe, 
That  Beauty  in  which  all  things  work  and  move, 
That  Benediction  which  the  eclipsing  Curse 
Of  birth  can  quench  not,  that  sustaining  Love 
Which  through  the  web  of  being  blindly  wove 
By  man  and  beast  and  earth  and  air  and  sea, 
Burns  bright  or  dim,  as  each  are  mirrors  of 
The  fire  for  which  all  thirst,  now  beams  on  me, 
Consuming  the  last  clouds  of  cold  mortality. 

The  breath  whose  might  I  have  invoked  in  song 
Descends  on  me ;  my  spirit's  bark  is  driven 
Far  from  the  shore,  far  from  the  trembling  throng 
Whose  sails  were  never  to  the  tempest  given ; 
The  massy  earth  and  sphered  skies  are  riven  ! 
I  am  borne  darkly,  fearfully  afar ; 
Whilst  burning  through  the  inmost  veil  of  Heaven, 
The  soul  of  Adonais,  like  a  star, 
Beacons  from  the  abode  where  the  Eternal  are. 


THE   OCCULTATION   OF   ORION, 

LONGFELLOW. 
I  SAW,  as  in  a  dream  sublime 

The  balance  in  the  hand  of  Time. 
O'er  East  and  West  its  beam  impended  ; 
And  day,  with  all  its  hours  of  light, 
Was  slowly  sinking  out  of  sight, 
While,  opposite,  the  scale  of  night 
Silently  with  the  stars  ascended. 

Like  the  astrologers  of  eld, 
In  that  bright  vision  I  beheld 
Greater  and  deeper  mysteries. 
I  saw,  with  its  celestial  keys, 
Its  chords  of  air,  its  frets  of  fire, 
The  Samian's  great  ^Eolian  lyre, 
Rising,  through  all  its  sevenfold  bars, 
From  earth  unto  the  fixed  stars. 
And  through  the  dewy  atmosphere, 
Not  only  could  I  see,  but  hear, 
Its  wondrous  and  harmonious  strings, 
In  sweet  vibration,  sphere  by  sphere, 
26 


302          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

From  Dian's  circle  light  and  near, 
Onward  to  vaster  and  wider  rings, 
Where,  chanting  through  his  beard  of  snowa, 
Majestic,  mournful,  Saturn  goes, 
And  down  the  sunless  realms  of  space 
Reverberates  the  thunder  of  his  bass. 

Beneath  the  sky's  triumphal  arch 
This  music  sounded  like  a  march, 
And  with  its  chorus  seemed  to  be 
Preluding  some  great  tragedy. 
Sirius  was  rising  in  the  east ; 
And,  slow  ascending  one  by  one, 
The  kindling  constellations  shone. 
Begirt  with  many  a  blazing  star, 
Stood  the  great  giant  Algebar, 
Orion,  hunter  of  the  beast ! 
His  sword  hung  gleaming  by  his  side. 
And,  on  his  arm,  the  lion's  hide 
Scattered  across  the  midnight  air 
The  golden  radiance  of  its  hair. 

The  moon  was  pallid,  but  not  faint ; 
And  beautiful  as  some  fair  saint, 
Serenely  moving  on  her  way 
In  hours  of  trial  and  dismay. 
As  if  she  heard  the  voice  of  God, 
Unharmed  with  naked  feet  she  trod 
Upon  the  hot  and  burning  stars, 
As  on  the  glowing  coals  and  bars 
That  were  to  prove  her  strength,  and  try 
Her  holiness  and  her  purity. 

Thus  moving  on,  with  silent  pace, 
And  triumph  in  her  sweet  pale  face, 
She  reached  the  station  of  Orion, 
Aghast  he  stood  in  strange  alarm ! 
And  suddenly  from  his  outstretched  arm 
Down  fell  the  red  skin  of  the  lion 
Into  the  river  at  his  feet. 
His  mighty  club  no  longer  beat 
The  forehead  of  the  bull ;  but  he 
Reeled  as  of  yore  beside  the  sea, 
When,  blinded  by  (Enopion, 
He  sought  the  blacksmith  at  his  forgo, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  303 

And,  climbing  up  the  mountain  gorge, 
Fixed  his  blank  eyes  upon  the  sun. 

Then,  through  the  silence  overhead, 

An  angel  with  a  trumpet  said, 

"  For  evermore,  for  evermore, 

The  reign  of  violence  is  o'er  I" 

And,  like  an  instrument  that  flings 

Its  music  on  another's  strings, 

The  trumpet  of  the  angel  cast 

Upon  the  heavenly  lyre  its  blast, 

And  on  from  sphere  to  sphere  the  words 

Re-echoed  down  the  burning  chords, — 

"  For  evermore,  for  evermore, 

The  reign  of  violence  is  o'er ! 


THE   BUILDERS. 

LONGFELLOW. 
ALL  are  architects  of  Fate, 

"Working  in  these  walls  of  Time ; 
Some  with  massive  deeds  and  great, 
Some  with  ornaments  of  rhyme. 

Nothing  useless  is,  or  low ; 

Each  thing  in  its  place  is  best ; 
And  what  seems  but  idle  show 

Strengthens  and  supports  the  rest. 

For  the  structure  that  we  raise, 

Time  is  with  materials  filled  ; 
Our  to-days  and  yesterdays 

Are  the  blocks  with  which  we  build. 

Truly  shape  and  fashion  these ; 

Leave  no  yawning  gaps  between ; 
Think  not,  because  no  man  sees, 

Such  things  will  remain  unseen. 

• 

In  the  elder  days  of  Art, 

Builder  wrought  with  greatest  care 
Each  minute  and  unseen  part  ; 

For  the  Gods  see  everywhere. 


304  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Let  us  do  our  work  as  well, 
Both  the  unseen  and  the  seen  ; 

Make  the  house,  where  Gods  may  dwell, 
Beautiful,  entire,  and  clean. 

Else  our  lives  are  incomplete, 
Standing  in  these  walls  of  Time, 

Broken  stairways,  where  the  feet 
Stumble  as  they  seek  to  climb. 

Build  to-day,  then,  strong  and  sure, 
With  a  firm  and  ample  base  ; 

And  ascending  and  secure 
Shall  to-morrow  find  its  place. 

Thus  alone  can  we  attain 

To  those  turrets,  where  the  eye 

Sees  the  world  as  one  vast  plain, 
And  one  boundless  reach  of  sky. 


SAND  OF  THE   DESERT  IN  AN  HOUR-GLASS. 

LONGFELLOW. 
A  HANDFUL  of  red  sand,  from  the  hot  clime 

Of  Arab  deserts  brought, 
Within  this  glass  becomes  the  spy  of  Time, 
The  minister  of  Thought. 

How  many  weary  centuries  has  it  been 

About  those  deserts  blown  ! 
How  many  strange  vicissitudes  has  seen, 

How  many  histories  known ! 

Perhaps  the  camels  of  the  Ishmaelite 

Trampled  and  passed  it  o'er, 
When  into  Egypt  from  the  patriarch's  sight 

His  favorite  son  they  bore. 

Perhaps  the  feet  of  Moses,  burnt  and  bare, 

Crushed  it  beneath  their  tread  ; 
Or  Pharaoh's  flashing  wheels  into  the  air    * 

Scattered  it  as  they  sped ; 

Or  Mary,  with  the  Christ  of  Nazareth 
Held  close  in  her  caress, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  305 

Whose  pilgrimage  of  hope  and  love  and  faith 
Illumed  the  wilderness ; 

Or  anchorites  beneath  Engaddi's  palms 

Pacing  the  Dead  Sea  beach, 
And  singing  slow  their  old  Armenian  psalms 

In  half-articulate  speech ; 

Or  caravans,  that  from  Bassora's  gate 

"With  westward  steps  depart ; 
Or  Mecca's  pilgrims,  confident  of  Fate, 

And  resolute  in  heart ! 

These  have  passed  over  it,  or  may  have  passed  I 

Now  in  this  crystal  tower 
Imprisoned  by  some  curious  hand  at  last, 

It  counts  the  passing  hour. 

And  as  I  gaze,  these  narrow  walls  expand ; 

Before  my  dreamy  eye 
Stretches  the  desert  with  its  shifting  sand, 

Its  unimpeded  sky. 

And,  borne  aloft  by  the  sustaining  blast, 

This  little  golden  thread 
Dilates  into  a  column  high  and  vast, 

A  form  of  fear  and  dread. 

And  onward,  and  across  the  setting  sun, 

Across  the  boundless  plain, 
The  column  and  its  broader  shadow  run, 

Till  thought  pursues  in  vain. 

The  vision  vanishes  !     These  walls  again 

Shut  out  the  lurid 'sun, 
Shut  out  the  hot,  immeasurable  plain  : 

The  half-hour's  sand  is  run ! 


THE  TEMPTATION  OF   CHRIST. 

MlLTOK. 

OUR  Saviour  lifting  up  his  eyes  beheld 
In  ample  space  under  the  broadest  shade 
A  table  richly  spread,  in  regal  mode, 
With  dishes  piled,  and  meats  of  noblest  sort 
26*  U 


306          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

And  savor,  beasts  of  chase-,  or  fowl  of  game, 

In  pastry  built,  or  from  the  spit,  or  boiled, 

Gris-amber  steamed  ;  all  fish  from  sea  or  shore, 

Freshet  or  purling  brook,  of  shell  or  fin, 

And  exquisitest  name,  for  which  was  drained 

Pontus,  and  Lucrine  bay,  and  Afric  coast. 

Alas  how  simple,  to  these  cates  compared, 

Was  that  crude  apple  that  diverted  Eve ! 

And  at  a  stately  side-board  by  the  wine 

That  fragrant  smell  diffused,  in  order  stood 

Tall  stripling  youths  rich  clad,  of  fairer  hue 

Than  Ganymed  or  Hylas ;  distant  more 

Under  the  trees  now  tripped,  now  solemn  stood 

Nymphs  of  Diana's  train,  and  Naiades 

With  fruits  and  flowers  from  Amalthea's  horn, 

And  ladies  of  the  Hesperides,  that  seemed 

Fairer  than  feigned  of  old,  or  fabled  since 

Of  fairy  damsels  met  in  forest  wide 

By  knights  of  Logres,  or  of  Lyones, 

Lancelot,  or  Pelleas,  or  Pellenore  ; 

And  all  the  while  harmonious  airs  were  heard 

Of  chiming  strings  or  charming  pipes,  and  winds 

Of  gentlest  gale  Arabian  odors  fanned 

From  their  soft  wings,  and  Flora's  earliest  smells. 

Such  was  the  splendor,  and  the  tempter  now 

His  invitation  earnestly  renewed. 

What  doubts  the  Son  of  God  to  sit  and  eat  ? 
These  are.not  fruits  forbidden  ;  no  interdict 
Defends  the  touching  of  these  viands  pure  ; 
Their  taste  no  knowledge  works  at  least  of  evil, 
But  life  preserves,  destroys  life's  enemy, 
Hunger,  with  sweet  restorative  delight. 
All  these  are  spirits  of  air,  and  woods,  and  springs, 
Thy  gentle  ministers,  who  come  to  pay 
Thee  homage,  and  acknowledge  thee  their  lord : 
What  doubt'st  thou,  Son  of  God  ?  sit  down  and  eat. 

From  "  Paradise  Regained." 


THE  MINSTREL'S  FAREWELL  TO  HIS  HARP. 

SOOTT. 

HARP  of  the  North,  farewell !  The  hills  grow  dark, 
On  purple  peaks  a  deeper  shade  descending ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  397 

In  twilight  copse  the  glow-worm  lights  her  spark ; 

The  deer,  half  seen,  are  to  the  covert  wending. 
Resume  thy  wizard  elm !  the  fountain  lending, 

And  the  wild  breeze,  thy  wilder  Minstrelsy ; 
Thy  numbers  sweet  with  nature's  vespers  blending, 

With  distant  echo  from  the  fold  and  lea, 
And  herd-boy's  evening  pipe,  and  hum  of  housing  bee. 

Yet,  once  again,  farewell,  thou  minstrel  Harp ; 

Yet,  once  again,  forgive  my  feeble  sway, 
And  little  reck  I  of  the  censure  sharp, 

May  idly  cavil  at  an  idle  lay. 
Much  have  I  owed  thy  strains  on  life's  long  way, 

Through  secret  woes  the  world  has  never  known, 
When  on  the  weary  night  dawned  wearier  day, 

And  bitterer  was  the  grief  devoured  alone. 
That  I  o'erlive  such  woes,  Enchantress  1  is  thine  own. 

Hark  !  as  my  lingering  footsteps  slow  retire — 

Some  Spirit  of  the  Air  has  waked  thy  string ; 
'Tis  now  a  Seraph  bold,  with  touch  of  fire, 

'Tis  now  the  brush  of  Fairy's  frolic  wing. 
Receding  now,  the  dying  numbers  ring 

Fainter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell, 
And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 

A  wandering  witch-note  of  the  distant  spell — 
And  now,  'tis  silent  all !  Enchantress,  fare  thee  well ! 


THE   HIGHLAND   CHASE. 

SCOTT. 

THE  Stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 
Where  danced  the  moon  on  Monan's  rill, 
And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 
In  lone  Glenartney's  hazel  shade ; 
But,  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red 
Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head, 
The  deep-mouthed  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 
Resounded  up  the  rocky  way, 
And  faint,  from  further  distance  borne, 
Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn. 

As  chief  who  hears  his  warder  call, 

"  To  arms !  the  foenien  storm  the  wall," — 


308          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

The  antlered  monarch  of  the  waste 

Sprung  from  his  heathery  couch  in  haste. 

But,  e'er  his  fleet  career  he  took, 

The  dew-drops  from  his  flanks  he  shook ; 

Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high, 

Tossed  his  beamed  frontlet  to  the  sky ; 

A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 

A  moment  snuffed  the  tainted  gale, 

A  moment  listened  to  the  cry, 

That  thickened  as  the  chase  drew  nigh ; 

Then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appeared, 

With  one  brave  bound  the  copse  he  cleared, 

And,  stretching  forward  free  and  far, 

Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  Uara-Var. 

Yelled  on  the  view  the  opening  pack, 
Rock,  glen  and  cavern  paid  them  back ; 
To  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once 
The  awakened  mountain  gave  response. 
A  hundred  dogs  bayed  deep  and  strong, 
Clattered  a  hundred  steeds  along, 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out, 
A  hundred  voices  joined  the  shout : 
With  hark  and  whoop,  and  wild  halloo, 
No  rest  Benvoirlich's  echoes  knew. 
Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe, 
Close  in  her  covert  cowered  the  doe, 
The  falcon,  from  her  cairn  on  high, 
Cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye, 
Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
The  hurricane  had  swept  the  glen. 
Faint,  and  more  faint,  its  failing  din 
Returned  from  cavern,  cliff,  and  linn, 
And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still, 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  hill. 


THE   CLOUD. 

SHELLEY. 
I  BRING  fresh  showers  for  the  thirsting  -flowers, 

From  the  seas  and  the  streams ; 
I  bear  light  shades  for  the  leaves  when  laid 
In  their  noon-day  dreams. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  309 

Prom  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews  that  waken 

The  sweet  buds  every  one, 
When  rocked  to  rest  on  their  mother's  breast, 

As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 
I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail, 

And  whiten  the  green  plains  under, 
And  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain, 

And  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder. 

I  sift  the  snow  on  the  mountains  below, 

And  their  great  pines  groan  aghast ; 
And  all  the  night  ;tis  my  pillow  white, 

While  I  sleep  in  the  arms  of  the  blast. 
Sublime  on  the  towers  of  my  skyey  bowers, 

Lightning  my  pilot  sits, 
In  a  cavern  under  is  fettered  the  thunder, 

It  struggles  and  howls  at  fits  ; 
Over  earth  and  ocean  with  gentle  motion, 

This  pilot  is  guiding  me, 
Lured  by  the  love  of  the  genii  that  move 

In  the  depths  of  the  purple  sea ; 
Over  the  rills,  and  the  crags,  and  the  hills, 

Over  the  lakes  and  the  plains, 
Wherever  he  dream,  under  mountain  or  stream, 

The  Spirit  he  loves  remains ; 
And  I  all  the  while  bask  in  heaven's  blue  smile, 

Whilst  he  is  dissolving  in  rains. 

The  sanguine  sunrise,  with  his  meteor  eyes, 

And  his  burning  plumes  outspread, 
Leaps  on  the  back  of  my  sailing  rack, 

When  the  morning  star  shines  dead. 
As  on  the  jag  of  a  mountain  crag, 

Which  an  earthquake  rocks  and  swings, 
An  eagle  alit  one  moment  may  sit 

In  the  light  of  its  golden  wings. 
And  when  sunset  may  breathe,  from  the  lit  sea  beneath, 

Its  ardors  of  rest  and  of  love, 
And  the  crimson  pall  of  eve  may  fall 

From  the  depth  of  heaven  above, 
With  wings  folded  I  rest,  on  mine  airy  nest, 

As  still  as  a  brooding  dove. 

That  orbed  maiden,  with  white  fire  laden, 
Whom  mortals  call  the  moon, 


310  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Glides  glimmering  o'er  my  fleece-like  floor, 

By  the  midnight  breezes  strewn ; 
And  wherever  the  beat  of  her  unseen  feet, 

Which  only  the  angels  hear, 
May  have  broken  the  woof  of  my  tent's  thin  roof, 

The  stars  peep  behind  her  and  peer ; 
And  I  laugh  to  see  them  whirl  and  flee, 

Like  a  swarm  of  golden  bees, 
"When  I  widen  the  rent  in  my  wind-built  tent, 

Till  the  calm  rivers,  lakes,  and  seas, 
Like  strips  of  the  sky  fallen  through  me  on  high, 

Are  each  paved  with  the  moon  and  these. 

I  bind  the  sun's  throne  with  the  burning  zone, 

And  the  moon's  with  a  girdle  of  pearl ; 
The  volcanoes  are  dim,  and  the  stars  reel  and  swim, 

When  the  whirlwinds  my  banner  unfurl. 
From  cape  to  cape,  with  a  bridge-like  shape, 

Over  a  torrent  sea, 
Sunbeam-proof,  I  hang  like  a  roof, 

The  mountains  its  columns  be. 
The  triumphal  arch  through  which  I  march, 

With  hurricane,  fire,  and  snow, 
When  the  powers  of  the  air  are  chained  to  my  chair, 

Is  the  million-colored  bow  ; 
The  sphere-fire  above  its  soft  colors  wove, 

While  the  moist  earth  was  laughing  below. 

I  am  the  daughter  of  earth  and  water, 

And  the  nursling  of  the  sky : 
I  pass  through  the  pores  of  the  ocean  and  shores ; 

I  change,  but  I  cannot  die. 
For  after  the  rain,  when  with  never  a  stain, 

The  pavilion  of  heaven  is  bare, 
And  the  winds  and  sunbeams  with  their  convex  gleams, 

Build  up  the  blue  dome  of  air, 
I  silently  laugh  at  my  own  cenotaph, 

And  out  of  the  caverns  of  rain, 
Like  a  child  from  the  womb,  like  a  ghost  from  the  tomb, 

I  arise  and  unbuild  it  again. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  311 

SPEED   THE   PROW. 

MONTGOMERY. 
NOT  the  ship  that  swiftest  saileth, 

But  which  longest  holds  her  way 
Onward,  onward,  never  faileth, 

Storm  and  calm,  to  win  the  day  ; 
Earliest  she  the  haven  gains, 
Which  the  hardest  stress  sustains. 

O'er  life's  ocean,  wide  and  pathless, 

Thus  would  I  with  patience  steer  ; 
No  vain  hope  of  journeying  scathless, 

No  proud  boast  to  face  down  fear ; 
Dark  or  bright  his  Providence, 
Trust  in  God  be  my  defence. 

Time  there  was, — 't  is  so  no  longer, — 

When  I  crowded  every  sail, 
Battled  with  the  waves,  and  stronger 

Grew,  as  stronger  grew  the  gale ; 
But  my  strength  sunk  with  the  wind, 
And  the  sea  lay  dead  behind. 

There  my  bark  had  foundered  surely, 

But  a  power  invisible 
Breathed  upon  me  ; — then  securely, 

Borne  along  the  gradual  swell, 
Helm  and  shrouds,  and  heart  renewed, 
I  my  humbler  course  pursued. 

Now,  though  evening  shadows  blacken, 

And  no  star  comes  through  the  gloom, 
On  I  move,  nor  will  I  slacken 

Sail,  though  verging  towards  the  tomb : 
Bright  beyond, — on  heaven's  high  strand, 
Lo,  the  lighthouse ! — land,  land,  land  1 

Cloud  and  sunshine,  wind  and  weather, 

Sense  and  sight  are  fleeing  fast ; 
Time  and  tide  must  fail  together, 

Life  and  death  will  soon  be  past ; 
But  where  day's  last  spark  declines, 
Glory  everlasting  shines. 


312  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   FIELD  OF   THE  WOKLD. 

MONTaOMERT. 

Sow  in  the  morn  thy  seed, 

At  eve  hold  not  thine  hand ; 
To  doubt  and  fear  give  thou  no  heed, 

Broad-cast  it  o'er  the  land. 

Beside  all  waters  sow, 

The  highway  furrows  stock, 
Drop  it  where  thorns  and  thistles  grow, 

Scatter  it  on  the  rock. 

The  good,  the  fruitful  ground, 

Expect  not  here  nor  there  ; 
O'er  hill  and  dale,  by  plots,  't  is  found ; 

Go  forth,  then,  everywhere. 

Thou  knowest  not  which  may  thrive, 

The  late  or  early  sown  ; 
Grace  keeps  the  precious  germs  alive, 

When  and  wherever  strown. 

And  duly  shall  appear, 

In  verdure,  beauty,  strength, 
The  tender  blade,  the  stalk,  the  ear, 

And  the  full  corn  at  length. 

Thou  canst  not  toil  in  vain  ; 

Cold,  heat,  and  moist  and  dry, 
Shall  foster  and  mature  the  grain, 

For  garners  in  the  sky. 

Thence,  when  the  glorious  end, 

The  day  of  God  is  come, 
The  angel-reapers  shall  descend, 

And  heaven  cry — "  Harvest  home  1" 


AN  INCIDENT  AT   KATISBON. 

BROWNING. 
You  know  we  French  stormed  Ratisbon : 

A  mile  or  so  away 
On  a  little  mound,  Napoleon 
Stood  on  our  storming  day ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  313 

With  neck  out-thrust,  you  fancy  how, 

Legs  wide,  arms  locked  behind, 
As  if  to  balance  the  prone  brow 

Oppressive  with  its  mind. 

Just  as  perhaps  he  mused,  "  My  plans 

That  soar,  to  earth  may  fall 
Let  once  my  army-leader  Lannes 

Waver  at  yonder  wall ;" 
Out  'twixt  the  battery-smokes  there  flew 

A  rider,  bound  on  bound 
Full-galloping ;  nor.  bridle  drew 

Until  he  reached  the  mound. 

Then  off  there  flung  in  smiling  joy, 

And  held  himself  erect 
Just  by  his  horse's  mane,  a  boy : 

You  hardly  could  suspect — 
(So  tight  he  kept  his  lips  compressed, 

Scarce  any  blood  came  through,) 
You  looked  twice  e'er  you  saw  his  breast 

Was  all  but  shot  in  two. 

"  Well,"  cried  he,  "  Emperor,  by  God's  grace 

We've  got  you  Ratisbon  ! 
The  marshal's  in  the  market-place, 

And  you'll  be  there  anon 
To  see  your  flag-bird  flap  his  vans 

Where  I,  to  heart's  desire, 
Perched  him."    The  chief's  eye  flashed ;  his  plans 

Soared  up  again  like  fire. 

The  chief's  eye  flashed  ;  but  presently 

Softened  itself,  as  sheathes 
A  film  the  mother  eagle's  eye 

When  her  bruised  eaglet  breathes : 
"You're  wounded !"     "  Nay,"  his  soldier's  pride 

Touched  to  the  quick,  he  said  ; 
"  I'm  killed,  sire  I"    And,  his  chief  beside, 

Smiling,  the  boy  fell  dead. 


27 


314  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


GINEVKA. 

ROGERS. 

IF  ever  you  should  come  to  Modena, 
(Where  among  other  relics  you  may  see 
Tassoni's  bucket — but  'tis  not  the  true  one) 
Stop  at  a  palace  near  the  Reggio-gate, 
Dwelt  in  of  old  by  one  of  the  Donati. 
Its  noble  gardens,  terrace  above  terrace, 
And  rich  in  fountains,  statues,  cypresses, 
Will  long  detain  you — but,  before  you  go, 
Enter  the  house — forget  it  not,  I  pray  you — 
And  look  awhile  upon  a  picture  there. 

'Tis  of  a  lady  in  her  earliest  youth, 
The  last  of  that  illustrious  family  ; 
Done  by  Zampieri — but  by  whom  I  care  not. 
He  who  observes  it — ere  he  passes  on, 
Gazes  his  fill,  and  comes  and  comes  again, 
That  he  may  call  it  up,  when  far  away. 

She  sits,  inclining  forward  as  to  speak, 
Her  lips  half  open,  and  her  finger  up, 
As  though  she  said  "  Beware  I"  her  vest  of  gold 
Broidered  with  flowers  and  clasped  from  head  to  foot, 
An  emerald  stone  in  every  golden  clasp ; 
And  on  her  brow,  fairer  than  alabaster, 
A  coronet  of  pearls. 

But  then  her  face, 

So  lovely,  yet  so  arch,  so  full  of  mirth, 
The  overflowings  of  an  innocent  heart — 
It  haunts  me  still,  though  many  a  year  has  fled, 
Like  some  wild  melody  ! 

Alone  it  hangs 

Over  a  mouldering  heir-loom,  its  companion, 
An  oaken-chest,  half-eaten  by  the  worm, 
But  richly  carved  by  Antony  of  Trent, 
With  scripture-stories  from  the  Life  of  Christ ; 
A  chest  that  came  from  Venice,  and  had  held 
The  ducal  robes  of  some  old  ancestor — 
That,  by  the  way — it  may  be  true  or  false — 
But  don't  forget  the  picture ;  and  you  will  not, 
When  you  have  heard  the  tale  they  told  me  there. 

She  was  an  only  child — her  name  Ginevra ; 
The  joy,  the  pride  of  an  indulgent  father; 
And  in  her  fifteenth  year  became  a  bride, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  315 

Marrying  an  only  son,  Francesco  Doria, 

Her  playmate  from  her  birth,  and  her  first  love. 

Just  as  she  looks  there  in  her  bridal  dress, 
She  was  all  gentleness,  all  gayety, 
Her  pranks  the  favorite  theme  of  every  tongue 
But  now  the  day  was  come,  the  day,  the  hour ; 
Now,  frowning,  smiling  for  the  hundredth  time, 
The  nurse,  that  ancient  lady,  preached  decorum ; 
And,  in  the  lustre  of  her  youth,  she  gave 
Her  hand,  with  her  heart  in  it,  to  Francesco. 

Great  was  the  joy  ;  but  at  the  nuptial  feast, 
When  all  sate  down,  the  bride  herself  was  wanting. 
Nor  was  she  to  be  found !     Her  father  cried, 
"  'Tis  but'to  make  a  trial  of  our  love  1" 
And  filled  his  glass  to  all ;  but  his  hand  shook, 
And  soon  from  guest  to  guest  the  panic  spread. 
'Twas  but  that  instant  she  had  left  Francesco, 
Laughing  and  looking  back  and  flying  still, 
Her  ivory  tooth  imprinted  on  his  finger. 
But  now,  alas  !  she  was  not  to  be  found ; 
Nor  from  that  hour  could  anything  be  guessed. 
But  that  she  was  not ! 

Weary  of  his  life, 

Francesco  flew  to  Venice,  and,  embarking, 
Flung  it  away  in  battle  with  the  Turk. 
Donati  lived — and  long  might  you  have  seen 
An  old  man  wandering  as  in  quest  of  something, 
Something  he  could  not  find — he  knew  not  what. 
When  he  was  gone,  the  house  remained  awhile 
Silent  and  tenantlcss — then  went  to  strangers. 

Full  fifty  years  were  past,  and  all  forgotten, 
When  on  an  idle  day,  a  day  of  search 
Mid  the  old  lumber  in  the  gallery, 
That  mouldering  chest  was  noticed ;  and  'twas  said 
By  one  as  young,  as  thoughtless  as  Ginevra, 
"  Why  not  remove  it  from  its  lurking-place  ?" 
;Twas  done  as  soon  as  said  ;  but  on  the  way 
It  burst,  it  fell ;  and  lo,  a  skeleton, 
With  here  and  there  a  pearl,  an  emerald-stone, 
A  golden  clasp,  clasping  a  shred  of  gold. 
All  else  had  perished — save  a  wedding-ring, 
And  a  small  seal,  her  mother's  legacy, 
Engraven  with  a  name,  the  name  of  both, 
"  Ginevra." 


316  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

There  then  had  she  found  a  grave ! 
Within  that  chest  had  she  concealed  herself, 
Fluttering  with  joy,  the  happiest  of  the  happy ; 
When  a  spring-lock,  that  lay  in  ambush  there, 
Fastened  her  down  for  ever ! 


THE   FOUR  ERAS. 

•MOM 

THE  lark  has  sung  his  carol  in  the  sky ; 

The  bees  have  hummed  their  noontide  harmony  ; 

Still  in  the  vale  the  village-bells  ring  round, 

Still  in  Llewellyn-hall  the  jests  resound : 

For  now  the  caudle-cup  is  circling  there, 

Now,  glad  at  heart,  the  gossips  breathe  their  prayer, 

And,  crowding,  stop  the  cradle  to  admire 

The  babe,  the  sleeping  image  of  his  sire. 

A  few  short  years — and  then  these  sounds  shall  hail 
The  day  again,  and  gladness  fill  the  vale ; 
So  soon  the  child  a  youth,  the  youth  a  man, 
Eager  to  run  the  race  his  fathers  ran. 
Then  the  huge  ox  shall  yield  the  broad  sirloin  ; 
The  ale,  now  brewed,  in  floods  of  amber  shine : 
And,  basking  in  the  chimney's  ample  blaze, 
Mid  many  a  tale  told  of  his  boyish  days, 
The  nurse  shall  cry,  of  all  her  ills  beguiled, 
"  'Twas  on  these  knees  he  sate  so  oft  and  smiled." 

And  soon  again  shall  music  swell  the  breeze ; 
Soon,  issuing  forth,  shall  glitter  through  the  trees 
Vestures  of  nuptial  white ;  and  hymns  be  sung, 
And  violets  scattered  round  ;  and  old  and  young, 
In  every  cottage  porch,  with  garlands  green, 
Stand  still  to  gaze,  and,  gazing,  bless  the  scene ; 
While,  her  dark  eyes  declining,  by  his  side 
Moves  in  her  virgin-veil  the  gentle  bride. 

And  once,  alas !  nor  in  a  distant  hour, 
Another  voice  shall  come  from  yonder  tower ; 
When  in  dim  chambers  long  black  weeds  are  seen. 
And  weepings  heard  where  only  joy  has  been  ;  • 
When  by  his  children  borne,  and  from  his  door 
Slowly  departing  to  return  no  more, 
He  rests  in  holy  earth  with  them  that  went  before. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  317 

TO   NIGHT. 

SHELLEY 
SWIFTLY  walk  over  the  western  wave, 

Spirit  of  Night ! 
Out  of  the  misty  eastern  cave, 
Where  all  the  long  and  lone  daylight, 
Thou  wovest  dreams  of  joy  and  fear, 
Which  make  thee  terrible  and  dear,— 
Swift  be  thy  flight ! 

Wrap  thy  form  in  a  mantle  gray, 

Star-inwrought ! 

Blind  with  thine  hair  the  eyes  of  day, 
Kiss  her  until  she  be  wearied  out, 
Then  wander  o'er  city,  and  sea,  and  land, 
Touching  all  with  thine  opiate  wand — 

Come,  long-sought! 

When  I  arose  and  saw  the  dawn, 

I  sighed  for  thee  ; 

When  light  rode  high,  and  the  dew  was  gone, 
And  noon  lay  heavy  on  flower  and  tree, 
And  the  weary  Day  turned  to  his  rest, 
Lingering  like  an  unloved  guest, 

I  sighed  for  thee. 

Thy  brother  Death  came,  and  cried, 

Wouldst  thou  me  ? 
Thy  sweet  child  Sleep,  the  filmy-eyed, 

Murmured  like  a  noontide  bee, 
Shall  I  nestle  near  thy  side  ? 
Wouldst  thou  me  ? — and  I  replied, 

No,  not  thee ! 

Death  will  come  when  thou  art  dead, 

Soon,  too  soon — 

Sleep  will  come  when  thou  art  fled ; 
Of  neither  would  I  ask  the  boon 
I  ask  of  thee,  beloved  Night- 
Swift  be  thine  approaching  flight, 

Come  soon,  soon ! 


27* 


318  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

BETTER   MOMENTS. 

N.  P.  WILLIS. 
MY  mother's  voice  !  how  often  creeps 

Its  cadence  on  my  lonely  hours  ! 
Like  healing  sent  on  wings  of  sleep, 
Or  dew  to  the  unconscious  flowers. 

I  can  forget  her  melting  prayer 

While  leaping  pulses  madly  fly, 
But  in  the  still,  unbroken  air, 

Her  gentle  tone  comes  stealing  by — 
And  years,  and  sin,  and  manhood  flee, 
And  leave  me  at  my  mother's  knee. 

I  have  been  out  at  eventide 

Beneath  a  moonlight  sky  of  spring, 
When  earth  was  garnished  like  a  bride, 

And  night  had  on  her  silver  wing — 
When  bursting  leaves,  and  diamond  grass, 

And  waters  leaping  to  the  light, 
And  all  that  make  the  pulses  pass 

With  wilder  fleetness,  thronged  the  night — 
When  all  was  beauty — then  have  I 

With  friends  on  whom  my  love  is  flung 
Like  myrrh  on  winds  of  Araby, 

Gazed  up  where  evening's  lamp  is  hung, 
And  when  the  beautiful  spirit  there 

Flung  over  me  its  golden  chain, 
My  mother's  voice  came  on  the  ear 

Like  the  light  dropping  of  the  rain — 
And  resting  on  some  silver  star 

The  spirit  of  a  bended  knee, 
I've  poured  out  low  and  fervent  prayer 

That  our  eternity  might  be 
To  rise  in  heaven,  like  stars  at  night, 
And  tread  a  living  path  of  light. 

I  have  been  on  the  dewy  hills, 

When  night  was  stealing  from  the  dawn, 

And  mist  was  on  the  waking  rills, 
And  tints  were  delicately  drawn 

In  the  gray  East — when  birds  were  waking, 
With  a  low  murmur  in  the  trees, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  319 

And  melody  by  fits  was  breaking 

Upon  the  whisper  of  the  breeze — 
And  this  when  I  was  forth,  perchance 
As  a  worn  reveller  from  the  dance — 

And  when  the  sun  sprang  gloriously 
And  freely  up,  and  hill  and  river 

Were  catching  upon  wave  and  tree 
The  arrows  from  his  subtle  quiver — 

I  say  a  voice  has  thrilled  me  then, 
Heard  on  the  still  and  rushing  light, 

Or,  creeping  from  the  silent  glen, 
Like  words  from  the  departing  night, 

Hath  stricken  me,  and  I  have  pressed 
On  the  wet  grass  my  fevered  brow, 

And  pouring  forth  the  earliest 
First  prayer,  with  which  I  learned  to  bow, 

Have  felt^my  mother's  spirit  rush 
Upon  me  as  in  by-past  years, 
And,  yielding  to  the  blessed  gush 
Of  my  ungovernable  tears, 

Have  risen  up — the  gay,  the  wild — 

Subdued  and  humble  as  a  child. 


DEATH   OF   GENERAL   HARRISON. 

N.  P.  WILLIS. 

DEATH  !  Death  in  the  White  House  !     Ah,  never  before, 
Trod  his  skeleton  foot  on  the  President's  floor  ! 
He  is  looked  for  in  hovel,  and  dreaded  in  hall — 
The  king  in  his  closet  keeps  hatchment  and  pall — 
The  youth  in  his  birth-place,  the  old  man  at  home, 
Make  clean  from  the  door-stone  the  path  to  the  tomb  ; — 
But  the  lord  of  this  mansion  was  cradled  not  here — 
In  a  churchyard  far  off  stands  his  beckoning  bier ! 
He  is  here  as  the  wave-crest  heaves  flashing  on  high — 
As  the  arrow  is  stopped  by  its  prize  in  the  sky — 
The  arrow  to  earth,  and  the  foam  to  the  shore — 
Death  finds  them  when  swiftness  and  sparkle  are  o'er — 
But  Harrison's  death  fills  the  climax  of  story — 
He  went  with  his  old  stride — from  glory  to  glory ! 

What  more?     Shall  we  on,  with  his  ashes?     Yet,  stay  ! 
He  hath  ruled  the  wide  realm  of  a  king  in  his  day ! 


32C          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

At  his  word,  like  a  monarch's,  went  treasure  and  land — 
The  bright  gold  of  thousands  has  passed  through  his  hand- 
Is  there  nothing  to  show  of  his  glittering  hoard  ? 
No  jewel  to  deck  the  rude  hilt  of  his  sword — 
No  trappings — no  horses  ? — what  had  he,  but  now  ? 
On  ! — on  with  his  ashes  ! — HE  LEFT  BUT  ms  PLOUGH  ! 
Brave  old  Cincinnatus  !     Unwind  ye  his  sheet ! 
Let  him  sleep  as  he  lived — with  his  purse  at  his  feet! 

X 

Follow  now,  as  ye  list !     The  first  mourner  to-day 
Is  the  nation — whose  father  is  taken  away ! 
Wife,  children,  and  neighbor,  may  moan  at  his  knell — 
He  was  "  lover  and  friend"  to  his  country,  as  well ! 
For  the  stars  on  our  banner,  grown  suddenly  dim, 
Let  us  weep,  in  our  darkness — but  weep  not  for  him  ! 
Not  for  him — who,  departing,  leaves  millions  in  tears ! 
Not  for  him — who  has  died  full  of  honor  and  years ! 
Not  for  him — who  ascended  Fame's  ladder  so  high 
From  the  round  at  the  top  he  has  stepped  to  the  sky! 


HYMN  TO   THE   FLOWERS. 

HORACE  SMITH. 
DAY-STARS  !  that  ope  your  eyes  with  man,  to  twinkle 

From  rainbow  galaxies  of  earth's  creation, 
And  dew-drops  on  her  holy  altars  sprinkle 
As  a  libation. 

Ye  matin  worshippers  !  who  bending  lowly 
Before  the  uprisen  sun,  God's  lidless  eye ! 
Throw  from  your  chalices  a  sweet  and  holy 
Incense  on  high. 

Ye  bright  Mosaics  !  that  with  storied  beauty 

The  floor  of  nature's  temple  tesselate 
With  numerous  emblems  of  instructive  beauty, 
Your  forms  create. 

'Neath  cloistered  boughs,  each  floral  bell  that  swingeth, 

And  tolls  its  perfume  on  the  passing  air> 
Makes  Sabbath  in  the  fields,  and  ever  ringeth 
A  call  to  prayer. 

Not  to  the  domes  where  crumbling  arch  and  column 
Attest  the  feebleness  of  mortal  hand, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  321 

But  to  that  fane,  most  catholic  and  solemn, 
Which  God  hath  planned ; 

To  that  cathedral,  boundless  as  our  wonder, 

Whose  quenchless  lamps  the  sun  and  moon  supply ; 
Its  choir  the  winds  and  waves — its  organ  thunder — 
Its  dome  the  sky. 

There,  as  in  solitude  and  shade  I  wander 

Through  the  green  aisles,  or  stretched  upon  the  sod, 
Awed  by  the  silence,  reverently  ponder 
The  ways  of  God. 

Your  voiceless  lips,  0  flowers  !  are  living  preachers, 

Each  cup  a  pulpit,  and  each  leaf  a  book, 
Supplying  to  my  fancy  numerous  teachers 
From  loneliest  nook. 

Floral  apostles  !  that  in  dewy  splendor, 

"  Weep  without  woe,  and  blush  without  a  crime/' 
Oh  may  I  deeply  learn,  and  ne'er  surrender 
Your  lore  sublime ! 

"  Thou  wert  not,  Solomon !  in  all  thy  glory, 

Arrayed,"  the  lilies  cry,  "  in  robes  like  ours  ; 
How  vain  your  grandeur !  ah,  how  transitory, 
Are  human  flowers  1" 

In  the  sweet  scented  pictures,  heavenly  Artist ! 

With  which  thou  paintest  nature's  wide-spread  hall, 
What  a  delightful  lesson  thou  impartest 
Of  love  to  all ! 

Not  useless  are  ye,  flowers !  though  made  for  pleasure, 

Blooming  o'er  field  and  wave  by  day  and  night, 
From  every  source  your  sanction  bids  me  treasure 
Harmless  delight. 

Ephemeral  sages  !  what  instructors  hoary 

For  such  a  world  of  thought  could  furnish  scope  ? 
Each  fading  calyx  a  memento  mori, 
Yet  fount  of  hope. 

Posthumous  glories !  angel-like  collection  ! 

Upraised  from  seed  or  bulb  interred  in  earth, 
Ye  are  to  me  a  type  of  resurrection, 
A  second  birth. 

X 


322          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Were  I,  0  God  !  in  churchless  lands  remaining, 

Far  from  all  voice  of  teachers  or  divines, 
My  soul  would  find  in  flowers  of  thy  ordaining, 
Priests,  sermons,  shrines ! 


THE   MUMMY. 

HORACE  SMITH. 
AND  thou  hast  walked  about — how  strange  a  story  ! 

In  Thebes's  streets,  three  thousand  years  ago ! 
When  the  Memnonium  was  in  all  its  glory, 

And  time  had  not  begun  to  overthrow 
Those  temples,  palaces,  and  piles  stupendous, 
Of  which  the  very  ruins  are  tremendous  ! 

Speak  ! — for  thou  long  enough  hast  acted  dummy, 
Thou  hast  a  tongue, — come — let  us  hear  its  tune ! 

Thou'rt  standing  on  thy  legs,  above-ground,  mummy ! 
Revisiting  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, — 

Not  like  thin  ghosts  or  disembodied  creatures, 

But  with  thy  bones,  and  flesh,  and  limbs  and  features  ! 

Tell  us — for  doubtless  thou  canst  recollect, — 

To  whom  should  we  assign  the  Sphinx's  fame  ? — 

Was  Cheops,  or  Cephrenes  architect 

Of  either  pyramid  that  bears  his  name  ? — 

Is  Pompey's  pillar  really  a  misnomer  ? — 

Had  Thebes  a  hundred  gates,  as  sung  by  Homer  ? 

Perhaps  thou  wert  a  mason, — and  forbidden, 

By  oath,  to  tell  the  mysteries  of  thy  trade : 
Then  say,  what  secret  melody  was  hidden 

In  Memnon's  statue,  which  at  sunrise  played  ? 
Perhaps  thou  wert  a  priest ; — if  so,  my  struggles 
Are  vain, — for  priestcraft  never  owns  its  juggles  ! 

Perchance  that  very  hand,  now  pinioned  "flat, 

Hath  hob-a-nobbed  with  Pharaoh,  glass  to  glass, — 

Or  dropped  a  halfpenny  in  Homer's  hat, — 
Or  doffed  thine  own,  to  let  Queen  Dido  pass, — 

Or  held,  by  Solomon's  own  invitation, 

A  torch,  at  the  great  temple's  dedication ! 

I  need  not  ask  thee  if  that  hand,  when  armed, 
Has  any  Roman  soldier  mauled  and  knuckled  ? 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  323 

For  thou  wert  dead,  and  buried,  and  embalmed, 
Ere  Romulus  and  Remus  had  been  suckled : — • 
Antiquity  appears  to  have  begun 
Long  after  thy  primeval  race  was  run. 

Thou  couldst  develop,  if  that  withered  tongue 
Might  tell  us  what  those  sightless  orbs  have  seen, 

How  the  world  looked  when  it  was  fresh  and  young, 
And  the  great  deluge  still  had  left  it  green ! — 

Or  was  it  then  so  old  that  history's  pages 

Contained  no  record  of  its  early  ages  ? 

Still  silent! — Incommunicative  elf! 

Art  sworn  to  secrecy  ?     Then  keep  thy  vows ! 
But,  prithee,  tell  us  something  of  thyself, — 

Reveal  the  secrets  of  thy  prison-house : — 
Since  in  the  world  of  spirits  thou  hast  slumbered, 
What  hast  thou  seen — what  strange  adventures  numbered  ? 

Since  first  thy  form  was  in  this  box  extended, 
We  have,  above-ground,  seen  some  strange  mutations ; 

The  Roman  empire  has  begun  and  ended, — 

New  worlds  have  risen, — we  have  lost  old  nations, — 

And  countless  kings  have  into  dust  been  humbled, 

While  not  a  fragment  of  thy  flesh  has  crumbled. 

Didst  thou  not  hear  the  pother  o'er  thy  head, 

When  the  great  Persian  conqueror,  Cambyses, 
Marched  armies  o'er  thy  tomb,  with  thundering  tread, 

O'erthrew  Osiris,  Orus,  Apis,  Isis, — 
And  shook  the  pyramids  with  fear  and  wonder, 
When  the  gigantic  Memnon  fell  asunder  ? 

If  the  tomb's  secrets  may  not  be  confessed, 

The  nature  of  thy  private  life  unfold ! 
A  heart  hath  throbbed  beneath  that  leathern  breast, 

And  tears  adown  that  dusty  cheek  have  rolled : — 
Have  children  climbed  those  knees,  and  kissed  that  face? 
What  was  thy  name  and  station,  age  and  race  ? 

Statue  of  flesh  !— Immortal  of  the  dead ! 

Imperishable  type  of  evanescence  ! 
Posthumous  man, — who  quitt'st  thy  narrow  bed, 

And  standest  undecayed  within  our  presence ! 
Thou  wilt  hear  nothing  till  the  judgment  morning, 
When  the  great  trump  shall  thrill  thee  with  its  warning ! 


324          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Why  should  this  worthless  tegument  endure, 
If  its  undying  guest  be  lost  for  ever  ? 

Oh !  let  us  keep  the  soul  embalmed  and  pure 
In  living  virtue, — that  when  both  must  sever, 

Although  corruption  may  our  frame  consume, 

The  immortal  spirit  in  the  skies  may  bloom ! 


SONG   OF   THE    STARS. 

BRYANT. 

WHEN  the  radiant  morn  of  creation  broke, 
And  the  world  in  the  smile  of  God  awoke, 
And  the  empty  realms  of  darkness  and  death 
Were  moved  through  their  depths  by  his  mighty  breath, 
And  orbs  of  beauty  and  spheres  of  flame 
From  the  void  abyss  by  myriads  came, — 
In  the  joy  of  youth  as  they  darted  away, 
Through  the  widening  wastes  of  space  to  play, 
Their  silver  voices  in  chorus  rung, 
And  this  was  the  song  the  bright  ones  sung : 

"  Away,  away,  through  the  wide,  wide  sky, — 

The  fair  blue  fields  that  before  us  lie, — 

Each  sun,  with  the  worlds  that  around  him  roll, 

Each  planet,  poised  on  her  turning  pole ; 

With  her  isles  of  green,  and  her  clouds  of  white, 

And  her  waters  that  lie  like  fluid  light. 

"  For  the  Source  of  Glory  uncovers  his  face, 
And  the  brightness  o'erflows  unbounded  space  ; 
And  we  drink,  as  we  go,  the  luminous  tides 
In  our  ruddy  air  and  our  blooming  sides  : 
Lo,  yonder  the  living  splendors  play  ; 
Away,  on  our  joyous  path,  away  ! 

"  Look,  look,  through  our  glittering  ranks  afar, 

In  the  infinite  azure,  star  after  star, 

How  they  brighten  and  bloom  as  they  swiftly  pass  ! 

How  the  verdure  runs  o'er  each  rolling  mass  ! 

And  the  path  of  the  gentle  winds  is  seen, 

Where  the  small  waves  dance,  and  the  young  woods  lean. 

"  And  see,  where  the  brighter  day-beams  pour, 
How  the  rainbows  hang  in  the  sunny  shower ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  325 

And  the  morn  and  eve,  with  their  pomp  of  hues, 
Shift  o'er  the  bright  planets  and  shed  their  dews ; 
And  'twixt  them  both,  o'er  the  teeming  ground, 
With  her  shadowy  cone  the  night  goes  round ! 

"  Away,  away !  in  our  blossoming  bowers, 

In  the  soft  air  wrapping  these  spheres  of  ours, 

In  the  seas  and  fountains  that  shine  with  morn, 

See,  love  is  brooding,  and  life  is  born, 

And  breathing  myriads  are  breaking  from  night, 

To  rejoice  like  us,  in  motion  and  light. 

"  Glide  on  in  your  beauty,  ye  youthful  spheres, 
To  weave  the  dance  that  measures  the  years  ; 
Glide  on,  in  the  glory  and  gladness  sent, 
To  the  furthest  wall  of  the  firmament, — 
The  boundless  visible  smile  of  Him, 
To  the  veil  of  whose  brow  your  lamps  are  dim. 


SMALL   THINGS. 

CHARLES  MACKAY. 
A  TRAVELLER  through  a  dusty  road 

Strewed  acorns  on  the  lea, 
And  one  took  root,  and  sprouted  up, 

And  grew  into  a  tree. 
Love  sought  its  shade  at  evening  time, 

To  breathe  its  early  vows  ; 
And  age  was  pleased,  in  heats  of  noon, 

To  bask  beneath  its  boughs. 
The  dormouse  loved  its  dangling  twig, 

The  birds  sweet  music  bore  ; 
It  stood,  a  glory  in  its  place — 

A  blessing  evermore. 

A  little  spring  had  lost  its  way 

Amid  the  grass  and  fern — 
A  passing  stranger  scooped  a  well, 

Where  weary  men  might  turn  ; 
He  walled  it  in,  and  hung  with  care 

A  ladle  at  the  brink — 
He  thought  not  of  the  deed  he  did, 

But  judged  that  toil  might  drink. 
28 


326  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

He  passed  again ;  and,  lo  !  the  well, 

By  summers  never  dried, 
Had  cooled  ten  thousand  parching  tongues, 

And  saved  a  life  beside ! 

A  dreamer  dropped  a  random  thought, 

'T  was  old,  and  yet 't  was  new — 
•v  A  simple  fancy  of  the  brain, 

But  strong  in  being  true  ; 
It  shone  upon  a  genial  mind, 

And,  lo  !  its  light  became 
A  lamp  of  life,  a  beacon  ray, 

A  monitory  flame. 
The  thought  was  small — its  issues  great, 

A  watch-fire  on  a  hill ; 
It  sheds  its  radiance  far  adown, 

And  cheers  the  valley  still. 

A  nameless  man,  amid  a  crowd 

That  thronged  the  daily  mart, 
Let  fall  a  word  of  hope  and  love, 

Unstudied,  from  the  heart ; 
A  whisper  on  the  tumult  thrown — 

A  transitory  breath  ; 
It  raised  'a  brother  from  the  dust, 

It  saved  a  soul  from  death. 
0  germ !  0  fount !  0  word  of  love ! 

0  thought  at  random  cast  1 
Ye  were  but  little  at  the  first, 

But  mighty  at  the  last. 


FORGIVE   AND   FORGET. 

CHARLES  SWAIN. 
FORGIVE  and  forget !  why  the  world  would  be  lonely, 

The  garden  a  wilderness  left  to  deform  ; 
If  the  flowers  but  remembered  the  chilling  winds  only, 

And  the  fields  gave  no  verdure  for  fear  of  the  storm ! 
Oh,  still  in  thy  loveliness  emblem  the  flower, 

Give  the  fragrance  of  feeling  to  sweeten  life's  sway ; 
And  prolong  not  again  the  brief  cloud  of  an  hour, 

With  tears  that  but  darken  the  rest  of  the  day ! 

Forgive  and  forget !  there's  no  breast  so  unfeeling 
But  some  gentle  thoughts  of  affection  there  live ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  327 

And  the  best  of  us  all  require  something  concealing, 
Some  heart  that  with  smiles  can  forget  and  forgive ! 

Then  away  with  the  cloud  from  those  beautiful  eyes, 
That  brow  was  no  home  for  such  frowns  to  have  met ; 

Oh,  how  could  our  spirits  e'er  hope  for  the  skies, 
If  Heaven  refused  to  Forgive  and  Forget? 


THE   FIRST   PRAYER. 

CHARLES  SWAIN. 
TELL  me,  0  ye  stars  of  night — 

In  the  ages  ye  have  seen, 
Aught  more  gentle,  mild,  and  bright, 
Aught  more  dear  to  angels'  sight, 

Hath  there  been ; 
Or  more  innocent  and  fair, 
Than  an  infant's  earliest  prayer  ? 

Tell  me,  0  ye  flowers  that  meet 

By  the  valley,  or  the  stream, 
Have  ye  incense  half  so  sweet, — 
Fragrance  in  your  rich  retreat, — 

That  ye  deem 

Half  so  dear  to  Heaven's  care, 
As  an  infant's  quiet  prayer  ? 

Speak,  and  tell  me,  thou,  0  Time, 

From  the  coming  of  the  Word, 
Aught  more  holy,  more  sublime, 
From  the  heart  of  any  clime, 

Hast  thou  heard, 
Than  the  voice  ascending  there, 
Than  that  lowly  infant's  prayer  ? 


THE   DEEP. 

BRAINERD. 

THERE'S  beauty  in  the  deep : — 
The  wave  is  bluer  than  the  sky ; 
And,  though  the  lights  shine  bright  on  high, 
More  softly  do  the  sea-gems  glow, 
That  sparkle  in  the  depths  below ; 


328  THE  SELECT  ACABEMIC  SPEAKER. 

The  rainbow's  tints  are  only  made 
When  on  the  waters  they  are  laid ; 
And  sun  and  moon  most  sweetly  shine 
Upon  the  ocean's  level  brine. 
There's  beauty  in  the  deep. 

There's  music  in  the  deep : — 
It  is  not  in  the  surf's  rough  roar, 
Nor  in  the  whispering,  shelly  shore, — 
They  are  but  earthly  sounds,  that  tell 
How  little  of  the  sea-nymph's  shell, 
That  sends  its  loud,  clear  note  abroad, 
Or  winds  its  softness  through  the  flood, 
Echoes  through  groves,  with  coral  gay, 
And  dies,  on  spongy  banks,  away. 

There's  music  in  the  deep. 

There's  quiet  in  the  deep : — 
Above,  let  tides  and  tempests  rave, 
And  earth-born  whirlwinds  wake  the  wave  ; 
Above,  let  care  and  fear  contend 
With  sin  and  sorrow,  to  the  end : 
Here,  far  beneath  the  tainted  foam 
That  frets  above  our  peaceful  home  ; 
We  dream  in  joy,  and  wake  in  love, 
Nor  know  the  rage  that  yells  above. 

There's  quiet  in  the  deep. 


THE   OLD   MAN'S   CAKOUSAL. 

PAULDINO. 

DRINK  !  drink !  to  whom  shall  we  drink  ? 
To  friend  or  a  mistress  ?     Come,  let  me  think  ! 
To  those  who  are  absent,  or  those  who  are  here  ? 
To  the  dead  that  we  loved,  or  the  living  still  dear  ? 
Alas !  when  I  look,  I  find  none  of  the  last ! 
The  present  is  barren — let's  drink  to  the  past. 

Come !  here's  to  the  girl  with  a  voice  sweet  and  low, 
The  eye  all  of  fire  and  the  bosom  of  snow, 
Who  erewhile  in  the  days  of  my  youth  that  are  fled, 
Once  slept  on  my  bosom,  and  pillowed  my  head ! 
Would  you  know  where  to  find  such  a  delicate  prize  ? 
Go  seek  in  yon  churchyard,  for  there  she  lies. 

\ 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  329 

And  here's  to  the  friend,  the  one  friend  of  my  youth, 
With  a  head  full  of  genius,  a  heart  full  of  truth, 
Who  travelled  with  me  in  the  sunshine  of  life, 
And  stood  by  my  side  in  its  peace  and  its  strife ! 
Would  you  know  where  to  seek  a  blessing  so  rare  ? 
Go  drag  the  lone  sea,  you  may  find  him  there. 

And  here's  to  a  brace  of  twin  cherubs  of  mine, 

With  hearts  like  their  mother's,  as  pure  as  this  wine, 

Who  came  but  to  see  the  first  act  of  the  play, 

Grew  tired  of  the  scene,  and  then  both  went  away. 

Would  you  know  where  this  brace  of  bright  cherubs  have  hied  ? 

Go  seek  them  in  heaven,  for  there  they  abide. 

A  bumper,  my  boys  !  to  a  gray-headed  pair, 
Who  watched  o'er  my  childhood  with  tenderest  care, 
God  bless  them,  and  keep  them,  and  may  they  look  down, 
On  the  head  of  their  son,  without  tear,  sigh,  or  frown ! 
Would  you  know  whom  I  'drink  to  ?  go  seek  mid  the  dead, 
You  will  find  both  their  names  on  the  stone  at  their  head. 

And  here's — but  alas !  the  good  wine  is  no  more, 

The  bottle  is  emptied  of  all  its  bright  store ; 

Like  those  we  have  toasted,  its  spirit  is  fled, 

And  nothing  is  left  of  the  light  that  it  shed. 

Then,  a  bumper  of  tears,  boys  !  the  banquet  here  ends, 

With  a  health  to  our  dead,  since  we've  no  living  friends. 


CHILDREN   OF   LIGHT. 

BERNARD  BARTON. 
WALK  in  the  light !  so  shalt  thou  know 

That  fellowship  of  love 
His  Spirit  only  can  bestow, 

Who  reigns  in  light  above. 
Walk  in  the  light ! — and  sin,  abhorred, 

Shall  ne'er  defile  again  ; 
The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  the  Lord 

Shall  cleanse  from  every  stain. 

Walk  in  the  light !— and  thou  shalt  find 

Thy  heart  made  truly  His, 
Who  dwells  in  cloudless  light  enshrined, 

In  whom  no  darkness  is. 
28* 


330  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Walk  in  the  light ! — and  thou  shalt  own 
Thy  darkness  passed  away, 

Because  that  light  hath  on  thee  shone 
In  which  is  perfect  day. 

Walk  in  the  light ! — and  e'en  the  tomb 

No  fearful  shade  shall  wear ; 
Glory  shall  chase  away  its  gloom, 

For  Christ  hath  conquered  there ! 
Walk  in  the  light ! — and  thou  shalt  be 

A  path,  though  thorny,  bright ; 
For  God,  by  grace,  shall  dwell  in  thee, 

And  God  himself  is  light ! 


THE   FOURTH   OF   JULY. 

PlEBPONT. 

DAY  of  glory  !  welcome  day ! 
Freedom's  banners  greet  thy  ray ; 
See !  how  cheerfully  they  play 

With  thy  morning  breeze, 
On  the  rocks  where  pilgrims  kneeled, 
On  the  heights  where  squadrons  wheeled, 
When  a  tyrant's  thunder  pealed 

O'er  the  trembling  seas. 

God  of  armies  !  did  thy  "  stars 
In  their  courses"  smite  his  cars, 
Blast  his  arm,  and  wrest  his  bars 

From  the  heaving  tide  ? 
On  our  standard,  lo  !  they  burn, 
And,  when  days  like  this  return, 
Sparkle  o'er  the  soldiers'  urn 

Who  for  freedom  died. 

God  of  peace ! — whose  spirit  fills 
All  the  echoes  of  our  hills, 
All  the  murmurs  of  our  rills, 

Now  the  storm  is  o'er ; — 
0,  let  freemen  be  our  sons  ; 
And  let  future  Washingtons 
Rise,  to  lead  their  valiant  ones, 

Till  there's  war  no  more. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  331 

By  the  patriot's  hallowed  rest, 
By  the  warrior's  gory  breast, — 
Never  let  our  graves  be  pressed 

By  a  despot's  throne  ; 
By  the  pilgrims'  toils  and  cares, 
By  their  battles  and  their  prayers, 
By  their  ashes, — let  our  heirs 

Bow  to  thee  alone. 


THE   TRUE   GLORY   OF  AMERICA. 

G.  MELLEN. 
ITALIA'S  vales  and  fountains, 

Though  beautiful  ye  be, 
I  love  my  soaring  mountains 

And  forests  more  than  ye  ; 
And  though  a  dreamy  greatness  rise 

From  out  your  cloudy  years, 
Like  hills  on  distant  stormy  skies, 
.     Seen  dim  through  Nature's  tears, 
Still,  tell  me  not  of  years  of  old, 

Of  ancient  heart  and  clime  ; 
Ours  is  the  land  and  age  of  gold, 

And  ours  the  hallowed  time ! 

The  jewelled  crown  and  sceptre 

Of  Greece  have  passed  away ; 
And  none,  of  all  who  wept  her, 

Could  bid  her  splendor  stay. 
The  world  has  shaken  with  the  tread 

Of  iron-sandalled  crime — 
And  lo  !  o'ershadowing  all  the  dead, 

The  conqueror  stalks  sublime ! 
Then  ask  I  not  for  crown  and  plume 

To  nod  above  my  land  ; 
The  victor's  footsteps  point  to  doom, 

Graves  open  round  his  hand  ! 

Rome  !  with  thy  pillared  palaces, 

And  sculptured  heroes  all, 
Snatched,  in  their  warm,  triumphal  days, 

To  Art's  high  festival ; 
Rome  !  with  thy  giant  sons  of  power, 

Whose  pathway  was  on  thrones, 


332          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Who  built  their  kingdoms  of  an  hour 

On  yet  unburied  bones, — 
I  would  not  have  my  land  like  thee, 

So  lofty — yet  so  cold  ! 
Be  hers  a  lowlier  majesty, 

In  yet  a  nobler  mould. 

Thy  marbles — works  of  wonder  ! 
+  In  thy  victorious  days, 

Whose  lips  did  seem  to  sunder 

Before  the  astonished  gaze  ; 
When  statue  glared  on  statue  there, 

The  living  on  the  dead, — 
And  men  as  silent  pilgrims  were 

Before  some  sainted  head ! 
0,  not  for  faultless  marbles  yet 

Would  I  the  light  forego 
That  beams  when  other  lights  have  set, 

And  Art  herself  lies  low ! 

0,  ours  a  holier  hope  shall  be 

Than  consecrated  bust, 
Some  loftier  mean  of  memory 

To  snatch  us  from  the  dust. 
And  ours  a  sterner  art  than  this, 

Shall  fix  our  image  here, — 
The  spirit's  mould  of  loveliness — 

A  nobler  Belvidere ! 

Then  let  them  bind  with  bloomless  flowers 

The  busts  and  urns  of  old, — 
A  fairer  heritage  be  ours, 

A  sacrifice  less  cold ! 
Give  honor  to  the  great  and  good, 

And  wreathe  the  living  brow, 
Kindling  with  Virtue's  mantling  blood, 

And  pay  the  tribute  now  1 

So,  when  the  good  and  great  go  down, 

Their  statues  shall  arise, 
To  crowd  those  temples  of  our  own, 

Our  fadeless  memories ! 
And  when  the  sculptured  marble  falls, 

And  Art  goes  in  to  die, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  333 

Our  forms  shall  live  in  holier  halls, 
The  Pantheon  of  the  sky  ! 


THE   SUPPLIANT. 

TRENCH. 

ALL  night  the  lonely  suppliant  prayed, 
All  night  his  earnest  crying  made ; 
Till,  standing  by  his  side  at  morn, 
The  Tempter  said  in  bitter  scorn : — 
"  Oh,  peace  ! — what  profit  do  you  gain 
From  empty  words  and  babblings  vain  ? 
'  Come,  Lord — oh,  come  !'  you  cry  alway ; 
You  pour  your  heart  out  night  and  day ; 
Yet  still  no  murmur  of  reply — 
No  voice  that  answers,  '  Here  am  I/  " 

Then  sank  that  stricken  heart  in  dust. 
That  word  had  withered  all  its  trust ; 
No  strength  retained  it  now  to  pray, 
For  Faith  and  Hope  had  fled  away : 
And  ill  that  mourner  now  had  fared, 
Thus  by  the  Tempter's  art  ensnared, 
But  that  at  length  beside  his  bed 
His  sorrowing  angel  stood,  and  said : — 
"  Doth  it  repent  thee  of  thy  love, 
That  never  now  is  heard  above 
Thy  prayer,  that  now  not  any  more 
It  knocks  at  heaven's  gate  as  before  ?" 

— "  I  am  cast  out — I  find  no  place, 

No  hearing  at  the-throne  of  grace : 

'  Come,  Lord — oh,  come  1'  I  cry  alway  ; 

I  pour  my  heart  out  night  and  day ; 

Yet  never  until  now  have  won 

The  answer — ;  Here  am  I,  my  son/  " 

— "  Oh,  dull  of  heart !  enclosed  doth  lie. 

In  each  '  Come,  Lord/  a  '  Here  am  I.' 

Thy  love,  thy  longing,  are  not  thine, 

Reflections  of  a  love  divine : 

Thy  very  prayer  to  thee  was  given, 

Itself  a  messenger  from  heaven. 

Whom  God  rejects,  they  are  not  so ; 

Strong  bands  are  round  them  in  their  woe ; 


334          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Their  hearts  are  bound  with  bands  of  brass, 

That  sigh  or  crying  cannot  pass. 

All  treasures  did  the  Lord  impart 

To  Pharaoh,  save  a  contrite  heart : 

All  other  gifts  unto  his  foes, 

He  freely  gives,  nor  grudging  knows  ; 

But  Love's  sweet  smart,  and  costly  pain, 

A  treasure  for  his  friends  remain." 


WEARY   OF   LIFE. 

Bon* 

I  SIT  beneath  the  sunbeams'  glow, 

Their  golden  currents  round  me  flow, 
Their  mellow  kisses  warm  my  brow, 

But  all  the  world  is  dreary. 
The  vernal  meadow  round  me  blooms, 
And  flings  to  me  its  faint  perfumes  ; 
Its  breath  is  like  an  opening  tomb's — 

I'm  sick  of  life,  I'm  weary ! 

The  mountain  brook  skips  down  to  me, 
Tossing  its  silver  tresses  free, 
Humming  like  one  in  revery ; 

But,  ah  !  the  sound  is  dreary. 
The  trilling  blue-birds  o'er  me  sail, 
There's  music  in  the  faint-voiced  gale; 
All  sound  to  me  a  mourner's  wail — 

I'm  sick  of  life,  I'm  weary. 

The  night  leads  forth  her  starry  train, 
The  glittering  moonbeams  fall  like  rain, 
There's  not  a  shadow  on  "the  plain ; 

Yet  all  the  scene  is  dreary. 
The  sunshine  is  a  mockery, 
The  solemn  moon  stares  moodily ; 
Alike  is  day  or  night  to  me — 

I'm  sick  of  life,  I'm  weary. 

I  know  to  some  the  world  is  fair, 
For  them  there's  music  in  the  air, 
And  shapes  of  beauty  everywhere ; 
But  all  to  me  is  dreary. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  335 

I  know  in  me  the  sorrows  lie 
That  blunt  my  ear  and  dim  my  eye  ; 
I  cannot  weep,  I  fain  would  die — 
I'm  sick  of  life,  I'm  weary. 


THE   CELESTIAL  AKMY. 

T.  B.  READ. 

I  STOOD  by  the  open  casement 
And  looked  upon  the  night, 
And  saw  the  westward-going  stars 
Pass  slowly  out  of  sight. 

Slowly  the  bright  procession 

Went  down  the  gleaming  arch, 
And  my  soul  discerned  the  music 

Of  their  long  triumphal  march ; 

Till  the  great  celestial  army, 

Stretching  far  beyond  the  poles, 
Became  the  eternal  symbol 

Of  the  mighty  march  of  souls. 

Onward,  for  ever  onward, 

Red  Mars  led  down  his  clan ; 
And  the  Moon,  like  a  mailed  maiden, 

Was  riding  in  the  van. 

And  some  were  bright  in  beauty, 

And  some  were  faint  and  small, 
But  these  might  be  in  their  great  height 

The  noblest  of  them  all. 

Downward,  for  ever  downward, 

Behind  Earth's  dusky  shore 
They  passed  into  the  unknown  night, 

They  passed,  and  were  no  more. 

No  more !     Oh,  say  not  so  ! 

And  downward  is  not  just ; 
For  the  sight  is  weak  and  the  sense  is  dim 

That  looks  through  heated  dust. 

The  stars  and  the  mailed  moon, 
Though  they  seem  to  fall  and  die, 


336          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Still  sweep  with  their  embattled  lines 
An  endless  reach  of  sky. 

And  though  the  hills  of  Death 
May  hide  the  bright  array, 

The  marshalled  brotherhood  of  souls 
Still  keeps  its  upward  way. 

Upward,  for  ever  upward, 
I  see  their  march  sublime, 

And  hear  the  glorious  music 
Of  the  conquerors  of  Time. 

And  long  let  me  remember, 
That  the  palest,  fainting  one   . 

May  to  diviner  vision  be 
A  bright  and  blazing  sun. 


NAPOLEON'S  EXILE. 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

NAPOLEON  !  'twas  a  high  name  lifted  high  ! 
It  met  at  last  God's  thunder  sent  to  clear 
Our  compassing  and  covering  atmosphere, 
And  open  a  clear  sight,  beyond  the  sky, 
Of  supreme  empire :  this  of  earth's  was  done — 
And  kings  crept  out  again  to  feel  the  sun. 

The  kings  crept  out — the  peoples  sat  at  home, 

And  finding  the  long-invocated  peace 

A  pall  embroidered  with  worn  images 

Of  rights  divine,  too  scant  to  cover  doom 

Such  as  they  suffered, — cursed  the  corn  that  grew 

Rankly,  to  bitter  bread,  on  Waterloo. 

A  deep  gloom  centered  in  the  deep  repose — 
The  nations  stood  up  mute  to  count  their  dead — 
And  he  who  owned  the  NAME  which  vibrated 
Through  silence, — trusting  to  his  noblest  foes, 
When  earth  was  all  too  gray  for  chivalry — 
Died  of  their  mercies,  'mid  the  desert  sea. 

0  wild  St.  Helen !  very  still  she  kept  him, 
With  a  green  willow  for  all  pyramid, — 
Which  stirred  a  little  if  the  low  wind  did, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  337 

A  little  more,  if  pilgrims  overwept  him 
Disparting  the  lithe  boughs  to  see  the  clay 
Which  seemed  to  cover  his  for  judgment-day. 

Nay  !  not  so  long ! — France  kept  her  old  affection, 

As  deeply  as  the  sepulchre  the  corse, 

Until  dilated  by  such  love's  remorse 

To  a  new  angel  of  the  resurrection, 

She  cried,  "  Behold,  thou  England !  I  would  have 

The  dead  whereof  thou  wottest,  from  that  grave." 

And  England  answered  in  the  courtesy 
Which,  ancient  foes  turned  lovers,  may  befit* — 
"  Take  back  thy  dead  I  and  when  thou  buriest  it, 
Throw  in  all  former  strifes  'twixt  thee  and  me." 
Amen,  mine  England !  'tis  a  courteous  claim — 
But  ask  a  little  room  too  ...  for  thy  shame ! 

Because  it  was  not  well,  it  was  not  well, 
Nor  tuneful  with  thy  lofty-chanted  part 
Among  the  Oceanides, — that  heart 
To  bind  and  bare,  and  vex  with  vulture  fell. 
I  would,  my  noble  England,  men  might  seek 
All  crimson  stains  upon  thy  breast — not  cheek ! 


SOUTHERN   AUTUMN. 

WM.  H.  TIMROD. 
SLEEPS  the  soft  South — nursing  its  delicate  breath, 

To  fan  the  first  buds  of  the  early  spring  ; 
And  summer  sighing,  mourns  his  faded  wreath, 

Its  many-colored  glories  withering. 
Beneath  the  kisses  of  the  new-waked  North, — 

Who  yet  in  storms  approaches  not,  but  smiles 
On  the  departing  season,  and  breathes  forth 

A  fragrance  as  of  summer, — till,  at  whiles, 
All  that  is  sweetest  in  the  varying  year, 

Seems  softly  blent  in  one  delicious  hour, 
Waking  dim  visions  of  some  former  sphere 

Where  sorrows,  such  as  earth  owns,  had  no  power 
To  veil  the  changeless  lustre  of  the  skies, 

And  mind  and  matter  formed  one  paradise. 


29 


338  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

EVENING  IN  WINTER. 

T.  B.  READ 

ROBED  like  an  abbess  the  snowy  earth  lies, 
While  the  red  sundown  fades  out  of  the  skies. 

Up  walks  the  evening  veiled  like  a  nun, 
Telling  her  starry  beads  one  by  one. 

Where  like  the  billows  the  shadowy  hills  lie, 

Like  a  mast  the  great  pine  swings  against  the  bright  sky. 

Down  in  the  valley  the  distant  lights  quiver, 
Gilding  the  hard-frozen  face  of  the  river. 

When  o'er  the  hilltops  the  moon  pours  her  ray, 
Like  shadows  the  skaters  skirr  wildly  away  ; 

Whirling  and  gliding,  like  summer-clouds  fleet, 
They  flash  the  white  lightning  from  glittering  feet 

The  icicles  hang  on  the  front  of  the  falls, 
Like  mute  horns  of  silver  on  shadowy  walls ; 

Horns  that  the  wild  huntsman  spring  shall  awake, 
Down  flinging  the  loud  blast  toward  river  and  lake! 


TO  TIME, 

WM.  H.  TIMEOD 
THEY  slander  thee,  old  Traveller, 

Who  say  that  thy  delight 
Is  to  scatter  ruin  far  and  wide, 

In  thy  wantonness  of  might ; 
For  not  a  leaf  that  falleth 

Before  thy  restless  wings 
But  in  thy  flight  thou  changest, 

To  a  thousand  brighter  things. 

Thou  passest  o'er  the  battle-field 

Where  the  dead  lie  stiff  and  stark, 
Where  nought  is  heard  save  the  vulture's  scream, 

And  the  gaunt  wolf 's  famished  bark ; 
But  thou  hast  caused  the  grain  to  spring 

From  the  blood-enriched  clay. 


RECITATIONS  IX  POETRY.  339 

And  the  waving  corn-tops  seem  to  dance 
To  the  rustic's  merry  lay : 

Thou  hast  strewn  the  lordly  palace 

In  ruin  o'er  the  ground, 
And  the  dismal  screech  of  the  owl  is  heard 

Where  the  harp  was  wont  to  sound ; 
But  the  self-same  spot  thou  coverest 

With  the  dwellings  of  the  poor, 
And  a  thousand  happy  hearts  enjoy 

What  one  usurped  before. 

'T  is  true,  thy  progress  layeth 

Full  many  a  loved  one  low, 
And  for  the  brave  and  beautiful 

Thou  hast  caused  our  tears  to  flow ; 
But  always,  near  the  couch  of  Death 

Nor  thou,  nor  we  can  stay, 
And  the  breath  of  thy  departing  wing 

Dries  all  our  tears  away. 


THE   MYSTEKY   OF  SONG. 

'  ANONTMOUS. 

WHENCE  come  ye,  saddening  chords  ? 
Thou  wailing  melody,  thou  martial  strain  ? 
Where  is  the  fountain  deep,  too  deep  for  words, 
Whence  gush  your  ambient  waters  to  the  main  ? 

Art  thou  a  prince,  0  Song  ? 
Like  to  the  wind-god,  or  the  lightning-king? 
Of  wayward  gentleness,  of  fierceness  strong — 
An  infant's  cry,  a  seraph's  sweeping  wing  ? 

Or  art  thou  God's  own  voice, 
Echoing  afar  through  Earth's  majestic  halls  ; 
Now  caught  in  whisperings  low,  when  men  rejoice, 
Now  pealed  in  thunder-bolts  and  water-falls  ? 

Poor  instruments  of  Earth 

Catch  the  stray  voices  circling  round  the  spheres, 
With  scarce  an  echo  of  their  heavenly  birth ; 
And  yet,  how  sadly  sweet  to  mortal  ears ! 


340  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Hark !  distant  swells  of  song 
Steal  o'er  the  moon-lit  waters  to  my  ear ; 
And,  as  the  rippling  waves  their  notes  prolong, 
They  bear  unto  my  spirit  hope  and  fear. 

Hope,  that,  o'er  moon-lit  seas, 
Our  inner  life  may  catch  sweet  lingering  strains : 
Vague  fear,  lest  soul-heard  melodies  like  these 
Die  in  our  hearts  while  memory  yet  remains. 

Where  fly  ye,  touching  chords, 
Thus  speaking  tones  of  heavenly  harmony  ? 
Have  ye  some  cloistered  home  which  Earth  affords, 
Or  course  ye  back  to  far  Infinity  ? 

Or  haply  are  ye  sent 

To  sink  and  dwell  in  hearts  of  god-like  mould? 
To  give  the  bright  imagination  vent, 
To  regions  vast,  of  melody  untold  ? 

I  call — but  ye  are  gone  ! 
A  slight  vibration  moans  along  the  sky, 
And  seems  to  whisper,  as  it  circles  on, 

These  saddening  words  :  "  Like  all  things  else,  we  die  I" 

Yet,  stay !     Can  Beauty  die  ? 
Can  golden  life  from  Purity  be  riven  ? 
List !  list !  the  answering  strains  come  floating  by  : 
"  The  home  of  all  sweet  melody  is  Heaven  I" 


THE   BANNER  OF   THE   CROSS. 

In  hoc  sir/no  vinces. 

ANONYMOUS. 
HIGH  above  the  conquering  march, 

Where  the  Roman  cohorts  stride  ; — 
High  above  triumphal  arch, 

Under  which  crowned  Caesars  ride  ; — 
Lo !  where  once  Rome's  eagle  flew, 

Cresting  standard,  spear  and  boss, 
Bathed  in  Heaven's  own  morning  dew, 

Floats  the  Banner  of  the  Cross ! 

Mystic  sign,  but  mighty  spell, 
Now  thy  blood-red  gonfalon, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  341 

Fluttering,  sees  the  Infidel 

Ride  in  blood  at  Ascalon. 
Now  it  falters, — now  it  flies, — 

Now  'tis  trailing  on  the  sod,— 
Now  again  its  glories  rise 

O'er  the  sepulchre  of  God ! 

Far  it  shone,  for  see !  unfurled 

O'er  the  western  surges  free, 
Now  it  greets  the  new-found  world — 

"  Waiting  islands  of  the  sea"— 
Chanting  priests  are  crowding  round, 

Dusky  forms  in  wonder  stand, 
Brothers !  this  is  "  holy  ground/' 

Given  to  the  Saviour's  hand. 

Rent  by  shot  and  torn  by  shell, 

On  thy  billows,  Trafalgar, 
See  its  flutterings  sink  and  swell, 

O'er  the  lurid  clouds  of  war. 
Dark,  in  storm,  it  lowers  too, 

Where  the  gathering  nations  met 
Him  on  whom  at  Waterloo, 

Victory's  sun  for  ever  set. 

Saviour !  in  these  latter  days, 

Let  no  more  thy  banner  fly 
Where  the  fires  of  battle  blaze, 

Where  the  lust  of  power  burns  high. 
'Neath  its  folds  bid  passion  cease, 

Hush  the  storms  of  wrath  and  fear, 
Be  it  now  the  flag  of  Peace — 

To  the  nations  everywhere. 

And,  oh  Lord !  when  here  below, 

All  our  pilgrim  work  is  done ; 
Let  it  lead  thy  children  through 

To  the  Kingdom  of  thy  Son. 
Then  above  that  heavenly  fane, 

Be  its  glorious  station  given, 
Where  to  praise  "  the  Lamb  once  slain," 

Is  the  "  banner  cry"  of  heaven  I 


29 


34J  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

ODE   TO   DUTY. 

WORDSWORTH. 
STERN  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God  1 

0  Duty  !  if  that  name  thou  love 
Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 

To  check  the  erring,  and  reprove ; 
Thou,  who  art  victory  and  law 
When  empty  terrors  overawe  ; 
From  vain  temptations  dost  set  free ; 
And  calm'st  the  weary  strife  of  frail  humanity  I 

There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 

Be  on  them  ;  who,  in  love  and  truth, 
Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 

Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth : 
Glad  hearts !  without  reproach  or  blot ; 
Who  do  thy  work  and  know  it  not ; 
Oh !  if  through  confidence  misplaced 
They  fail,  thy  saving  arms,  dread  Power !  around  them  cast. 

Serene  will  be  our  days  and  bright, 

And  happy  will  our  nature  be, 
When  love  is  an  unerring  light, 

And  joy  its  own  security. 
And  they  a  blissful  course  may  hold 
Even  now,  who,  not  unwisely  bold, 
Live  in  the  spirit  of  this  creed ; 
Yet  find  thy  firm  support,  according  to  their  need. 

I,  loving  freedom,  and  untried ; 

No  sport  of  every  random  gust, 
Yet  being  to  myself  a  guide, 

Too  blindly  have  reposed  my  trust: 
And  oft,  when  in  my  heart  was  heard 
Thy  timely  mandate,  I  deferred 
The  task,  in  smoother  walks  to  stray  ; 
Bat  thee  I  now  would  serve  more  strictly,  if  I  may. 

Through  no  disturbance  of  my  soul, 

Or  strong  compunction  in  me  wrought, 
I  supplicate  for  thy  control; 
t    But  in  the  quietness  of  thought: 
Me  this  unchartered  freedom  tires ; 
1%     I  feel  the  weight  of  chance-desires : 


RECITATIONS  IN  POET11Y.  343 

My  hopes  no  more  must  change  their  name, 
I  long  for  a  repose  that  ever  is  the  same. 

Stern  Lawgiver !  yet  thou  dost  wear 

The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace ; 
Nor  know  we  anything  so  fair 

As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face : 
Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds ; 
And  fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads; 
Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  wrong ; 
And  the  most  ancient  heavens,  through  Thee,  are  fresh  and  strong. 

To  humbler  functions,  awful  Power  1 

I  call  thee :  I  myself  commend 
Unto  thy  guidance  from  this  hour ; 

Oh,  let  my  weakness  have  an  end ! 
Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 
The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice ; 
The  confidence  of  reason  give ;         » 
And  in  the  light  of  truth  thy  bondman  let  me  live ! 


I   GIVE   MY   SOLDIER  BOY  A  BLADE. 

MAOINN. 

I  GIVE  my  soldier  boy  a  blade, 

In  fair  Damascus  fashioned  well ; 
Who  first  the  glittering  falchion  swayed, 

Who  first  beneath  its  fury  fell, 
I  know  not,  but  I  hope  to  know 

That  for  no  mean  or  hireling  trade.* 
To  guard  no  feeling  base  or  low, 

I  give  my  soldier  boy  a  blade. 

Cool,  calm,  and  clear,  the  lucid  flood 

In  which  its  tempering  work  was  done, 
As  calm,  as  clear,  as  cool  of  mood, 

Be  thou  whene'er  it  sees  the  sun ; 
For  country's  claim,  at  honor's  call, 

For  outraged  friend,  insulted  maid, 
At  mercy's  voice  to  bid  it  fall, 

I  give  my  soldier  boy  a  blade. 


544          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

The  eye  which  marked  its  peerless  edge, 

The  hand  that  weighed  its  balanced  poise, 
Anvil  and  pincers,  forge  and  wedge, 

Are  gone  with  all  their  flame  and  noise — 
And  still  the  gleaming  sword  remains  ; 

So,  when  in  dust  I  low  am  laid, 
Remember,  by  those  heart-felt  strains, 

I  gave  my  soldier  boy  a  blade. 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   FAME. 

JOANNA  BAILLIE. 

0,  WHO  shall  lightly  say  that  fame 
Is  nothing  but  an  empty  name, 
Whilst  in  that  sound  there  is  a  charm, 
The  nerves  to  brace,  the  heart  to  warm ; 
As,  thinking  of  the  mighty  dead, 
The  young,  from  slothful  couch  will  start, 
And  vow,  with  lifted  hands  outspread, 
Like  them  to  act  a  noble  part  ? 

0,  who  shall  lightly  say  that  fame 
Is  nothing  but  an  empty  name, 
"When,  but  for  those,  our  mighty  dead, 
All  ages  past  a  blank  would  be ; 
Sunk  in  oblivion's  murky  bed — 
A  desert  bare — a  shipless  sea? 
They  are  the  distant  objects  seen, 
The  lofty  marks  of  what  hath  been. 

0,  who  shall  lightly  say  that  fame 
Is  nothing  but  an  empty  name, 
When  memory  of  the  mighty  dead 
To  earth-worn  pilgrims'  wistful  eye 
The  brightest  rays  of  cheering  shed, 
That  point  to  immortality  ? 


THE  LAST   MAN. 

CAMPBELL. 

ALL  worldly  shapes  shall  melt  in  gloom, 
The  Sun  himself  must  die, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  345 

Before  this  mortal  shall  assume 

Its  immortality  ! 
I  saw  a  vision  in  my  sleep, 
That  gave  my  spirit  strength  to  sweep 

Adown  the  gulf  of  Time ! 
I  saw  the  last  of  human  mould 
That  shall  Creation's  death  behold, 

As  Adam  saw  her  prime  ! 

The  Sun's  eye  had  a  sickly  glare, 

The  Earth  with  age  was  wan, 
The  skeletons  of  nations  were 

Around  that  lonely  man  ! 
Some  had  expired  in  fight, — the  brands 
Still  rusted  in  their  bony  hands ; 

In  plague  and  famine  some ! 
Earth's  cities  had  no  sound  nor  tread ; 
And  ships  were  drifting  with  the  dead 

To  shores  where  all  was  dumb  I 

Yet,  prophet-like,  that  lone  one  stood, 

With  dauntless  words  and  high, 
That  shook  the  sere  leaves  from  the  wood, 

As  if  a  storm  passed  by, 
Saying,  We  are  twins  in  death,  proud  Sun! 
Thy  face  is  cold,  thy  race  is  run, 

'T is  Mercy  bids  thee  go: 
For  thou  ten  thousand  thousand  years 
Hast  seen  the  tide  of  human  tears, 

That  shall  no  longer  flow. 

What  though  beneath  thee  man  put  forth 

His  pomp,  his  pride,  his' skill  ; 
And  arts  that  made  fire,  flood,  and  earth, 

The  vassals  of  his  will ; — 
Yet  mourn  I  not  thy  parted  sway, 
Thou  dim  discrowned  king  of  day : 

For  all  those  trophied  arts 
And  triumphs  that  beneath  thee  sprang, 
Healed  not  a  passion  or  a  pang 

Entailed  on  human  hearts. 

Go,  let  Oblivion's  curtain  fall 
Upon  the  stage  of  men, 


346  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Nor  with  thy  rising  beams  recall 

Life's  tragedy  again. 
Its  piteous  pageants  bring  not  back, 
Nor  waken  flesh,  upon  the  rack 

Of  pain  anew  to  writhe  ; 
Stretched  in  disease's  shapes  abhorred, 
Or  mown  in  battle  by  the  sword, 

Like  grass  beneath  the  scythe. 

Even  I  am  weary  in  yon  skies 

To  watch  thy  fading  fire ; 
Test  of  all  sumless  agonies, 

Behold  not  me  expire. 
My  lips  that  speak  thy  dirge  of  death — 
Their  rounded  gasp  and  gurgling  breath 

To  see  thou  shalt  not  boast. 
The  eclipse  of  Nature  spreads  my  pall,-— 
The  majesty  of  darkness  shall 

Receive  my  parting  ghost ! 

This  spirit  shall  return  to  Him 

Who  gave  its  heavenly  spark ; 
Yet  think  not,  Sun,  it  shall  be  dim 

When  thou  thyself  art  dark ! 
No !  it  shall  live  again,  and  shine 
In  bliss  unknown  to  beams  of  thine, 

By  Him  recalled  to  breath, 
Who  captive  led  Captivity, 
Who  robbed  the  grave  of  victory, — 

And  took  the  sting  from  Death  1 

Go,  Sun,  while  Mercy  holds  me  up 

On  Nature's  awful  waste 
To  drink  this  last  and  bitter  cup 

Of  grief  that  man  shall  taste — 
Go,  tell  the  Night  that  hides  thy  face, 
Thou  sawest  the  last  of  Adam's  race, 

On  Earth's  sepulchral  clod, 
The  darkening  universe  defy 
To  quench  his  Immortality, 

Or  shake  his  trust  in  God !    - 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  347 

NAPOLEON'S  FINAL  KETUKN. 

MBS.  BROWNING. 

NAPOLEON  !  he  hath  come  again — borne  home 
Upon  the  popular  ebbing  heart, — a  sea 
Which  gathers  its  own  wrecks  perpetually, 
Majestically  moaning.     Give  him  room  ! — 
Room  for  the  dead  in  Paris !  welcome  solemn 
And  grave  deep,  'neath  the  cannon-moulded  column  1* 

There,  weapon  spent  and  warrior  spent  may  rest 

From  roar  of  fields :  provided  Jupiter 

Dare  trust  Saturnus  to  lie  down  so  near 

His  bolts! — And  this  he  may :  For,  dispossessed 

Of  any  godship.  lies  the  god-like  arm — 

The  goat,  Jove  sucked,  as  likely  to  do  harm. 

And  yet  .  .  .  Napoleon ! — the  recovered  name 
Shakes  the  old  casements  of  the  world  !  and  we 
Look  out  upon  the  passing  pageantry, 
Attesting  that  the  Dead  makes  good  his  claim 
To  a  Gaul  grave, — another  kingdom  won — 
The  last — of  few  spans — by  Napoleon. 

Blood  fell  like  dew  beneath  his  sunrise — sooth  1 

But  glittered  dew-like  in  the  covenanted 

And  high-rayed  light.     He  was  a  despot — granted ! 

Bnt  the  aoroq  of  his  autocratic  mouth 

Said  yea  i'  the  people's  French :  he  magnified 

The  image  of  the  freedom  he  denied. 

And  if  they  asked  for  rights,  he  made  reply, 

"  Ye  have  my  glory  !" — and  so,  drawing  round  them 

His  ample  purple,  glorified  and  bound  them 

In  an  embrace  that  seemed  identity. 

He  ruled  them  like  a  tyrant — true  !  but  none 

Were  ruled  like  slaves  !     Each  felt  Napoleon ! 

I  do  not  praise  this  man :  the  man  was  flawed 

For  Adam — much  more,  Christ ! — his  knee,  unbent — 

His  hand,  unclean — his  aspiration,  pent 

Within  a  sword-sweep — pshaw  ! — but  since  he  had 

The  genius  to  be  loved,  why  let  him  have 

The  justice  to  be  honored  in  his  grave. 

*  It  was  the  first  intention  to  bury  him  under  the  column. 


848          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

I  think  this  nation's  tears,  poured  thus  together, 

Nobler  than  shouts :  I  think  this  funeral 

Grander  than  crownings,  though  a  Pope  bless  all : 

I  think  this  grave  stronger  than  thrones :  But  whether 

The  crowned  Napoleon  or  the  buried  clay 

Be  better,  I  discern  not — Angels  may. 


MY   FATHER. 

H.  R.  JACKSON. 
As  die  the  embers  on  the  hearth, 

And  o'er  the  floor  the  shadows  fall, 
And  creeps  the  chirping  cricket  forth, 

And  ticks  the  deathwatch  in  the  wall, 
I  see  a  form  in  yonder  chair, 

That  grows  beneath  the  waning  light ; 
There  are  the  wan,  sad  features — there 

The  pallid  brow,  and  locks  of  white  ! 

My  father !  when  they  laid  thee  down, 

And  heaped  the  clay  upon  thy  breast, 
And  left  thee  sleeping  all  alone 

Upon  thy  narrow  couch  of  rest — 
I  know  not  why,  I  could  not  weep, 

The  soothing  drops  refused  to  roll — • 
And  oh,  that  grief  is  wild  and  deep 

Which  settles  tearless  on  the  soul  1 

But  when  I  saw  thy  vacant  chair— •• 

Thine  idle  hat  upon  the  wall — > 
Thy  book — the  pencilled  passage  where 

Thine  eye  had  rested  last  of  all — 
The  tree  beneath  whose  friendly  shade 

Thy  trembling  feet  had  wandered  forth— * 
The  very  prints  those  feet  had  made, 

When  last  they  feebly  trod  the  earth — 

And  thought,  while  countless  ages  fled, 

Thy  vacant  seat  would  vacant  stand, 
Unworn  thy  hat,  thy  book  unread, 

Effaced  thy  footsteps  from  the  sand^ 
And  widowed  in  this  cheerless  world, 

The  heart  that  gave  its  love  to  thee — 
Torn,  like  a  vine  whose  tendrils  curled 

More  closely  round  the  fallen  tree  !— -, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  349 

Oh,  father !  then  for  her  and  thee 

Gushed  madly  forth  the  scorching  tears ; 
And  oft,  and  long,  and  bitterly, 

Those  tears  have  gushed  in  later  years ; 
For  as  the  world  grows  cold  around, 

And  things  take  on  their  real  hue, 
'Tis  sad  to  learn  that  love  is  found 

Alone  above  the  stars,  with  you ! 


THE   CLOSING  YEAR. 

G.  D.  PRENTICX. 

THE  year 

Has  gone,  and,  with  it,  many  a  glorious  throng 
Of  happy  dreams.     Its  mark  is  on  each  brow, 
Its  shadow  in  each  heart.     In  its  swift  course, 
It  waved  its  sceptre  o'er  the  beautiful, 
And  they  are  not.     It  laid  its  pallid  hand 
Upon  the  strong  man,  and  the  haughty  form 
Is  fallen,  and  the  flashing  eye  is  dim. 
It  trod  the  hall  of  revelry,  where  thronged 
The  bright  and  joyous,  and  the  tearful  wail, 
Of  stricken  ones  is  heard,  where  erst  the  song 
And  reckless  shout  resounded.     It  passed  o'er 
The  battle-plain,  where  sword  and  spear  and  shield 
Flashed  in  the  light  of  midday — and  the  strength 
Of  serried  hosts  is  shivered,  and  the  grass, 
Green  from  the  soil  of  carnage,  waves  above 
The  crushed  and  mouldering  skeleton.    It  came 
And  faded  like  a  wreath  of  mist  at  eve ; 
Yet,  ere  it  melted  in  the  viewless  air, 
It  heralded  its  millions  to  their  home 
In  the  dim  land  of  dreams.     Remorseless  Time — 
Fierce  spirit  of  the  glass  and  scythe — what  power 
Can  stay  him  in  his  silent  course,  or  melt 
His  iron  heart  to  pity  ?     On,  still  on 
He  presses,  and  for  ever.     The  proud  bird, 
The  condor  of  the  Andes,  that  can  soar 
Through  heaven's  unfathomable  depths,  or  brave 
The  fury  of  the  northern  hurricane, 
And  bathe  his  plumage  in  the  thunder's  home, 
Furls  his  broad  wings  at  nightfall,  and  sinks  down 
To  rest  upon  his  mountain-crag, — but  Time 
Knows  not  the  weight  of  sleep  or  weariness, 
30 


350  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

And  night's  deep  darkness  has  no  chain  to  bind 
His  rushing  pinion.     Revolutions  sweep 
O'er  earth,  like  troubled  visions  o'er  the  breast 
Of  dreaming  sorrow ;  cities  rise  and  sink, 
I^ike  bubbles  on  the  water ;  fiery  isles 
Spring,  blazing,  from  the  ocean,  and  go  back 
To  their  mysterious  caverns  ;  mountains  rear 
To  heaven  their  bald  and  blackened  cliffs,  and  bow 
Their  tall  heads  to  the  plain ;  new  empires  rise, 
Gathering  the  strength  of  hoary  centuries, 
And  rush  down  like  the  Alpine  avalanche. 
Startling  the  nations  ;  and  the  very  stars, 
Yon  bright  and  burning  blazonry  of  God, 
Glitter  a  while  in  their  eternal  depths, 
And,  like  the  Pleiad,  loveliest  of  their  train, 
Shoot  from  their  glorious  spheres,  and  pass  away, 
To  darkle  in  the  trackless  void : — yet  Time — 
Time,  the  tomb-builder,  holds  his  fierce  career, 
Dark,  stern,  all-pitiless,  and  pauses  not 
Amid  the  mighty  wrecks  that  strew  his  path, 
To  sit  and  muse,  like  other  conquerors, 
Upon  the  fearful  ruin  he  has  wrought. 


THE   VILLAGE   SCHOOLMASTER. 

GOLDSMITH. 

BESIDE  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way, 
With  blossomed  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion  skilled  to  rule, 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school : 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view, 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew ; 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face ; 
Full  well  they  laughed  with  counterfeited  glee 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he  ; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper  circling  round, 
Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned : 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or  if  severe  in  aught, 
The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault ; 
The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew, 
'Twas  certain  he  could  write,  and  cipher  too ; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage, 
And  even  the  story  ran — that  he  could  gauge  : 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  351 

In  arguing  too,  the  parson  owned  his  skill, 

For  even  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still ; 

While  words  of  learned  length,  and  thundering  sound, 

Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around; 

And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew, 

That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew. 


THE  TRAVELLER'S  EYRIE. 

GOLDSMITH. 

EVEN  now,  where  Alpine  solitudes  ascend, 
I  sit  me  down  a  pensive  hour  to  spend ; 
And,  placed  on  high  above  the  storm's  career, 
Look  downward  where  an  hundred  realms  appear  ; 
Lakes,  forests,  cities,  plains,  extending  wide, 
The  pomp  of  kings,  the  shepherd's  humbler  pride. 

When  thus  Creation's  charms  around  combine, 
Amidst  the  store,  should  thankless  pride  repine  ? 
Say,  should  the  philosophic  mind  disdain 
That  good  which  makes  each  humbler  bosom  vain? 
Let  school-taught  pride  dissemble  all  it  can, 
These  little  things  are  great  to  little  man ; 
And  wiser  he,  whose  sympathetic  mind 
Exults  in  all  the  good  of  all  mankind. 
Ye  glittering  towns,  with  wealth  and  splendor  crowned  ; 
Ye  fields,  where  summer  spreads  profusion  round; 
Ye  lakes,  whose  vessels  catch  the  busy  gale  ; 
Ye  bending  swains,  that  dress  the  flowery  vale ; 
For  me  your  tributary  stores  combine : 
Creation's  heir,  the  world,  the  world  is  mine ! 


WASHINGTON. 

ELIZA  COOKE. 

LAND  of  the  west !  though  passing  brief  the  record  of  thine  age, 
Thou  hast  a  name  that  darkens  all  on  history's  wide  page ! 
Let  all  the  blasts  of  fame  ring  out — thine  shall  be  loudest  far : 
Let  others  boast  their  satellites — thou  hast  the  planet  star. 

Thpu  hast  a  name  whose  characters  of  light  shall  ne'er  depart ; 
'Tis  stamped  upon  the  dullest  brain,  and  warms  the  coldest  heart ; 


352          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

A  war-cry  fit  for  any  land  where  freedom's  to  be  won. 
Land  of  the  west !  it  stands  alone — it  is  thy  Washington  ! 

Rome  had  its  Caesar,  great  and  brave ;  but  stain  was  on  his  wreath : 
He  lived  the  heartless  conqueror,  and  died  the  tyrant's  death. 
France  had  its  eagle ;  but  his  wings,  though  lofty  they  might  soar, 
Were  spread  in  false  ambition's  flight,  and  dipped  in  murder's  gore. 

Those  hero-gods,  whose  mighty  sway  would  fain  have  chained  the 

waves — 

Who  fleshed  their  blades  with  tiger  zeal,  to  make  a  world  of  slaves — 
Who,  though  their  kindred  barred  the  path,  still  fiercely  waded  on — 
Oh,  where  shall  be  their  "  glory"  by  the  side  of  Washington? 

He  fought,  but  not  with  love  of  strife ;  he  struck  but  to  defend ; 
And  ere  he  turned  a  people's  foe,  he  sought  to  be  a  friend. 
He  strove  to  keep  his  country's  right,  by  reason's  gentle  word, 
And  sighed  when  fell  injustice  threw  the  challenge — sword  to  sword. 

He  stood  the  firm,  the  calm,  the  wise,  the  patriot  and  sage ; 
He  showed  no  deep,  avenging  hate — no  burst  of  despot  rage. 
He  stood  for  liberty  and  truth,  and  dauntlessly  led  on, 
Till  shouts  of  victory  gave  forth  the  name  of  Washington. 

No  car  of  triumph  bore  him  through  a  city  filled  with  grief; 
No  groaning  captives  at  the  wheels  proclaimed  him  victor  chief; 
He  broke  the  gyves  of  slavery  with  strong  and  high  disdain, 
And  cast  no  sceptre  from  the  links  when  he  had  crushed  the  chain. 

He  saved  his  land,  but  did  not  lay  his  soldier  trappings  down 
To  change  them  for  the  regal  vest,  and  don  a  kingly  crown. 
Fame  was  too  earnest  in  her  joy — too  proud  of  such  a  son — 
To  let  a  robe  and  title  mask  a  noble  Washington. 

England,  my  heart  is  truly  thine — my  loved,  my  native  earth  ! — 
The  land  that  holds  a  mother's  grave,  and  gave  that  mother  birth ! 
Oh,  keenly  sad  would  be  the  fate  that  thrust  me  from  thy  shore, 
And  faltering  my  breath,  that  sighed,  "  farewell  for  evermore !" 

But  did  I  meet  such  adverse  lot,  I  would  not  seek  to  dwell 
Where  olden  heroes  wrought  the  deeds  for  Homer's  song  to  tell. 
Away,  thou  gallant  ship !  I'd  cry,  and  bear  me  swiftly  on : 
But  bear  me  from  my  own  fair  land,  to  that  of  Washington ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  353 

THE  PAUPER'S  DEATH-BED. 

MRS.  SOUTHET. 

TREAD  softly — bow  the  head — 

In  reverent  silence  bow — 
No  passing  bell  doth  toll — 
Yet  an  immortal  soul 

Is  passing  now. 

Stranger  !  however  great,    . 

With  lowly  reverence  bow ; 
There's  one  in  that  poor  shed — 
One  by  that  paltry  bed — 

Greater  than  thou. 

Beneath  that  beggar's  roof, 

Lo !  death  does  keep  his  state ; 
Enter — no  crowds  attend — 
Enter — no  guards  defend 

This  palace  gate. 

That  pavement,  damp  and  cold, 

No  smiling  courtiers  tread ; 
One  silent  woman  stands, 
Lifting  with  meagre  hands 

A  dying  head. 

No  mingling  voices  sound — 

An  infant  wail  alone ; 
A  sob  suppressed — agen 
That  short,  deep  gasp,  and  then 

The  parting  groan. 

0  change! — 0  wondrous  change  I —     x 

Burst  are  the  prison  bars — 
This  moment  there,  so  low, 
So  agonized,  and  now 

Beyond  the  stars ! 

0  change  ! — stupendous  change  1 

There  lies  the  soulless  clod ; 
The  Sun  eternal  breaks — 
The  new  immortal  wakes — 

Wakes  with  his  God. 


30 


354  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


THE    SETTLER. 

A.  B.  STREET 
His  echoing  axe  the  settler  swung 

Amid  the  sea-like  solitude, 
And,  rushing,  thundering,  down  were  flung 

The  Titans  of  the  wood  ; 
Loud  shrieked  the  eagle,  as  he  dashed 
From  out  his  mossy  nest,  which  crashed 

With  its  supporting  bough, 
And  the  first  sunlight,  leaping,  flashed 

On  the  wolf's'  haunt  below. 

Rude  was  the  garb,  and  strong  the  frame 

Of  him  who  plied  his  ceaseless  toil : 
To  form  that  garb  the  wild-wood  game 

Contributed  their  spoil ; 
The  soul  that  warmed  that  frame  disdained 
The  tinsel,  gaud,  and  glare,  that  reigned 

Where  men  their  crowds  collect ; 
The  simple  fur,  untrimmed,  unstained, 
This  forest-tamer  decked. 

The  paths  which  wound  mid  gorgeous  trees, 

The  stream  whose  bright  lips  kissed  their  flowers, 
The  winds  that  swelled  their  harmonies 

Through  those  sun-hiding  bowers, 
The  temple  vast,  the  green  arcade, 
The  nestling  vale,  the  grassy  glade, 

Dark  cave,  and  swampy  lair: 
These  scenes  and  sounds  majestic,  made 

His  world,  his  pleasures,  there. 

His  roof  adorned  a  pleasant  spot, 

Mid  the  black  logs  green  glowed  the  grain, 
And  herbs  and  plants  the  woods  knew  not, 

Throve  in  the  sun  and  rain. 
The  smoke-wreath  curling  o'er  the  dell, 
The  low,  the  bleat,  the  tinkling  bell, 

All  made  a  landscape  strange, 
Which  was  the  living  chronicle 

Of  deeds  that  wrought  the  change. 

The  violet  sprung  at  spring's  first  tinge, 
The  rose  of  summer  spread  its  glow, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  355 

The  maize  hung  out  its  autumn  fringe, 

Rude  winter  brought  his  snow ; 
And  still  the  lone  one  labored  there, 
His  shout  and  whistle  broke  the  air, 

As  cheerily  he  plied 
His  garden-spade,  or  drove  his  share 

Along  the  hillock's  side. 

He  marked  the  fire-storm's  blazing  flood 

Roaring  and  crackling  on  its  path, 
And  scorching  earth,  and  melting  wood, 

Beneath  its  greedy  wrath  ; 
He  marked  the  rapid  whirlwind  shoot, 
Trampling  the  pine  tree  with  its  foot, 

And  darkening  thick  the  day 
With  streaming  bough  and  severed  root, 

Hurled  whizzing  on  its  way. 

His  gaunt  hound  yelled,  his  rifle  flashed, 

The  grim  bear  hushed  his  savage  growl ; 
In  blood  and  foam  the  panther  gnashed 

His  fangs,  with  dying  howl ; 
The  fleet  deer  ceased  its  flying  bound, 
Its  snarling  wolf-foe  bit  the  ground, 

And,  with  its  moaning  cry, 
The  beaver  sank  beneath  the  wound 

Its  pond-built  Venice  by. 

Humble  the  lot,  yet  his  the  race, 

When  Liberty  sent  forth  her  cry, 
Who  thronged  in  conflict's  deadliest  place, 

To  fight— to  bleed— to  die  ! 
Who  cumbered  Bunker's  height  of  red, 
By  hope  through  weary  years  were  led, 

And  witnessed  Yorktown's  sun 
Blaze  on  a  nation's  banner  spread, 

A  nation's  freedom  won. 


THE   COKAL   GKOVE. 

PERCTVAIi. 

DEEP  in  the  wave  is  a  coral  grove, 
Where  the  purple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove ; 
Where  the  sea-flower  spreads  its  leaves  of  blue, 
That  never  are  wet  with  falling  dew, 


356  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

But  in  bright  and  changeful  beauty  shine, 

Far  down  in  the  green  and  glassy  brine. 

The  floor  is  of  sand,  like  the  mountain  drift, 

And  the  pearl-shells  spangle  the  flinty  snow ; 

From  coral  rocks  the  sea-plants  lift 

Their  boughs,  where  the  tides  and  billows  flow ; 

The  water  is  calm  and  still  below, 

For  the  winds  and  waves  are  absent  there, 

And  the  sands  are  bright  as  the  stars  that  glow 

In  the  motionless  fields  of  upper  air : 

There,  with  its  waving  blade  of  green, 

The  sea-flag  streams  through  the  silent  water, 

And  the  crimson  leaf  of  the  dulse  is  seen 

To  blush,  like  a  banner  bathed  in  slaughter : 

There,  with  a  light  and  easy  motion, 

The  fan-coral  sweeps  through  the  clear,  deep  sea ; 

And  the  yellow  and  scarlet  tufts  of  ocean 

Are  bending  like  corn  on  the  upland  lea : 

And  life,  in  rare  and  beautiful  forms, 

Is  sporting  amid  those  bowers  of  stone, 

And  is  safe,  when  the  wrathful  spirit  of  storms 

Has  made  the  top  of  the  wave  his  own : 

And  when  the  ship  from  his  fury  flies, 

Where  the  myriad  voices  of  ocean  roar, 

When  the  wind-god  frowns  in  the  murky  skies, 

And  demons  are  waiting  the  wreck  on  shore ; 

Then,  far  below,  in  the  peaceful  sea, 

The  purple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove, 

Where  the  waters  murmur  tranquilly, 

Through  the  bending  twigs  of  the  coral  grove. 


APOSTROPHE   TO   THE   SUN. 

PERCIVAL. 
CENTRE  of  light  and  energy  !  thy  way 

Is  through  the  unknown  void  ;  thou  hast  thy  throne, 
Morning,  and  evening,  and  at  noon  of  day, 

Far  in  the  blue,  untended  and  alone : 

Ere  the  first-wakened  airs  of  earth  had  blown, 
On  thou  didst  march,  triumphant  in  thy  light ; 

Then  thou  didst  send  thy  glance,  which  still  hath  flown 
Wide  through  the  never-ending  worlds  of  night, 
And  yet  thy  full  orb  burns  with  flash  as  keen  and  bright. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  357 

We  call  thee  Lord  of  Day,  and  thou  dost  give 

To  earth  the  fire  that  animates  her  crust, 
And  wakens  all  the  forms  that  move  and  live, 

From  the  fine,  viewless  mould  which  lurks  in  dust, 

To  him  who  looks  to  heaven,  and  on  his  bust 
Bears  stamped  the  seal  of  God,  who  gathers  there 

Lines  of  deep  thought,  high  feeling,  daring  trust 
In  his  own  centered  powers,  who  aims  to  share 
In  all  his  soul  can  frame  of  wide,  and  great,  and  fair. 

Thy  path  is  high  in  heaven  ;  we  cannot  gaze 

On  the  intense  of  light  that  girds  thy  car ; 
There  is  a  crown  of  glory  in  thy  rays, 

Which  bears  thy  pure  divinity  afar, 

To  mingle  with  the  equal  light  of  star, — 
For  thou,  so  vast  to  us,  art  in  the  whole 

One  of  the  sparks  of  night  that  fire  the  air, 
And,  as  around  thy  centre  planets  roll, 
So  thou,  too,  hast  thy  path  around  the  central  soul. 

I  am  no  fond  idolater  to  thee, 

One  of  the  countless  multitude,  who  burn, 
As  lamps,  around  the  one  Eternity, 

In  whose  contending  forces  systems  turn 

Their  circles  round  that  seat  of  life,  the  urn 
Where  all  must  sleep,  if  matter  ever  dies : 

Sight  fails  me  here,  but  fancy  can  discern 
With  the  wide  glance  of  her  all-seeing  eyes, 
Where,  in  the  heart  of  worlds,  the  ruling  Spirit  lies. 


"LET  THEKE   BE    LIGHT." 

MRS.  F.  H.  COOKK, 
GOD  said,  "  Let  there  be  light !"     The  glorious  word 

Thrilled  to  the  bosom  of  primeval  Night, 
And  hovering  choirs  of  listening  angels  heard 
And  echoed  back  the  mandate  with  delight. 
They  hailed  the  boon  those  simple  words  conferred, 
"  Let  there  be  light !" 

Still,  though  uncounted  years  have  rolled  away 
Since  Earth  first  revelled  in  a  gift  so  bright, 

Some  lingering  clouds  obstruct  the  rising  day, 

The  powers  of  Darkness  are  not  vanquished  quite. 


358  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Humanity  hath  often  missed  the  way ; 
"  Let  there  be  light ! 

Light  for  the  doomed  one  in  his  lonely  cell, 
Waiting  Conviction's  last,  most  fearful  rite : 

Light  for  the  brother-bands  that  pealed  his  knell, 
Claiming  the  Avenger's  office  to  requite. 

Law-makers !  Jurors  !  Judges  !  where  ye  dwell 
"Let  there  be  light !" 

Light  for  the  poor  down-trodden,  as  they  toil 

Long  hours,  with  weary  limbs  and  aching  sight: 

Light  for  the  revellers  in  the  costly  spoil 

Torn  from  their  brethren.     On  their  foreheads  write, 

"  The  Oak  shuts  not  the  Daisy  from  the  soil." 
"Let  there  be  light!" 

Light  for  the  injured,  whereso'er  they  dwell, 
And  the  sweet  ties  that  suffering  hearts  unite : 

Light  for  the  iujurers,  too,  for  none  may  tell 

How  much  their  hearts  have  struggled  for  the  Right. 

Guilt  is  mistake.     Then  bid  the  chorus  swell, 
"  Let  there  be  light  1" 


ALL'S   FOB   THE   BEST. 

MARTIN  F.  TCPPEB. 
ALL'S  for  the  best.     Be  sanguine  and  cheerful ; 

Trouble  and  sorrow  are  friends  in  disguise ; 
Nothing  but  folly  goes  faithless  and  fearful ; 

Courage  for  ever  is  happy  and  wise  ; 
All  for  the  best — if  man  would  but  know  it ; 

Providence  wishes  us  all  to  be  blest ; 
There  is  no  dream  of  the  pundit  or  poet ; 

Heaven  is  gracious,  and — all's  for  the  best. 

All's  for  the  best !  set  this  in  your  standard, 

Soldier  of  sadness,  or  pilgrim  of  love, 
Who  to  the  shores  of  despair  may  have  wandered, 

A  way-wearied  swallow,  or  heart-stricken  dove ; 
All's  for  the  best ! — be  man  but  confiding, 

Providence  tenderly  governs  the  rest, 
And  the  frail  bark  of  His  creature  is  guiding, 

Wisely  and  warily,  all  for  the  best. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  359 

All's  for  the  best !     Then  fling  away  terrors, 

Meet  all  your  fears  and  your  foes  in  the  van, 
And  in  the  midst  of  your  dangers  or  errors, 

Trust  like  a  child,  while  you  strive  like  a  man ; 
All's-for  the  best ! — unbiassed,  unbounded, 

Providence  reigns  from  the  east  to  the  west; 
And  by  both  wisdom  and  mercy  surrounded, 

Hope  and  be  happy  that  all's  for  the  best.  » 


ECHO   AND   SILENCE. 

SIR  EGERTON  BRYDGES. 
IN  eddying  course  when  leaves  began  to  fly, 

And  Autumn  in  her  lap  the  store  to  strew, 

As  mid  wild  scenes  I  chanced  the  Muse  to  woo, 
Through  glens  untrod,  and  woods  that  frowned  on  high, 
Two  sleeping  nymphs  with  wonder  mute  I  spy ! 

And,  lo,  she's  gone ! — In  robe  of  dark-green  hue 

'Twas  Echo  from  her  sister  Silence  flew, 
For  quick  the  hunter's  horn  resounded  to  the  sky  I 
In  shade  affrighted  Silence  melts  away. 

Not  so  her  sister. — Hark  !  for  onward  still, 
With  far-heard  step,  she  takes  her  listening  way, 

Bounding  from  rock  to  rock,  and  hill  to  hill. 

Ah,  mark  the  merry  maid  in  mockful  play 
With  thousand  mimic  tones  the  laughing  forest  fill ! 


THE   FOUE-LEAVED    SHAMROCK. 

I'LL  seek  a  four-leaved  shamrock  in  all  the  fairy  dells, 
And  if  I  find  the  charmed  leaves,  oh,  how  I'll  weave  my  spells'! 
I  would  not  waste  my  magic  might  on  diamond,  pearl,  or  gold, 
For  treasure  tires  the  weary  sense — such  triumph  is  but  cold ; 
But  I  would  play  th'  enchanter's  part,  in  casting  bliss  around, — 
Oh  !  not  a  tear,  nor  aching  heart,  should  in  the  world  be  found. 

To  worth  I  would  give  honor ! — I'd  dry  the  mourner's  tears, 

And  to  the  pallid  lip  recall  the  smile  of  happier  years, 

And  hearts  that  had  been  long  estranged,  and  friends  that  had  grown 

cold, 

Should  meet  again — like  parted  streams — and  mingle  as  of  old ! 
Oh !  thus  I'd  play  th'  enchanter's  part,  thus  scatter  bliss  around, 
And  not  a  tear,  nor  aching  heart,  should  in  the  world  be  found  1 


360          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

The  heart  that  had  been  mourning  o'er  vanished  dreams  of  love, 
Should  see  them  all  returning, — like  Noah's  faithful  dove, 
And  Hope  should  launch  her  blessed  bark  on  Sorrow's  darkening  sea, 
And  Misery's  children  have  an  Ark,  and  saved  from  sinking  be ; 
Oh !  thus  I'd  play  th'  enchanter's  part,  thus  scatter  bliss  around, 
And  not  a  tear,  nor  aching  heart,  should  in  the  world  be  found ! 


THE  BLEST  OF   EARTH. 

J.  GUJJORNE  LTOKS. 
THOU  shalt  not  call  him  blest, 
Though  born  to  high  command, 
Who  sees  among  his  slaves 
The  nobles  of  his  laud ; 
Though  banners  bear  his  name 
On  many  a  shining  fold, 
Though  sparkling  gems  are  his, 
And  ruddy  piles  of  gold. 

Thou  shalt  not  call  him  blest, 
In  lofty  wisdom  sage, 
Whose  searching  eye  has  read 
Creation's  boundless  page  ; — 
Who  gathers  round  his  hearth 
The  wise  of  ancient  days  ; 
Whose  words  the  learned  and  great 
Of  other  times  shall  praise. 

But  thou  shalt  call  him  blest, 
Though  all  unknown  to  fame, 
Whose  righteous  works  adorn 
The  Christian's  sacred  name ; 
Who  loves  the  toilsome  path, 
That  high  Apostles  trod  ; 
Who  keeps  with  humble  faith 
The  just  decrees  of  God. 


THE   HOMES   OF   ENGLAND. 

MBS.  UEMANS. 
THE  stately  homes  of  England, 

How  beautiful  they  stand  ! 
Amidst  their  tall  ancestral  trees, 
O'er  all  the  pleasant  land. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY. 

The  deer  across  their  greensward  bound 
Through  shade  and  sunny  gleam, 

And  the  swan  glides  past  them  with  the  sound 
Of  some  rejoicing  stream. 

The  merry  homes  of  England ! 

Around  their  hearths  by  night, 
What  gladsome  looks  of  household  love 

Meet  in  the  ruddy  light ! 
There  woman's  voice  flows  forth  in  song, 

Or  childhood's  tale  is  told ; 
Or  lips  move  tunefully  along 

Some  glorious  page  of  old. 

The  blessed  homes  of  England  ! 

How  softly  on  their  bowers 
Is  laid  the  holy  quietness 

That  breathes  from  Sabbath  hours ! 
Solemn,  yet  sweet,  the  church-bell's  chime 

Floats  through  their  woods  at  morn ; 
All  other  sounds,  in  that  still  time, 

Of  breeze  and  leaf  are  born. 

The  cottage  homes  of  England ! 

By  thousands  on  her  plains, 
They  are  smiling  o'er  the  silvery  brooks, 

And  round  the  hamlet-fanes. 
Through  glowing  orchards  forth  they  peep, 

Each  from  its  nook  of  leaves, 
And  fearless  there  the  lowly  sleep, 

As  the  bird  beneath  their  eaves. 

The  free,  fair  homes  of  England  I 

Long,  long,  in  hut  and  hall, 
May  hearts  of  native  proof  be  reared 

To  guard  each  hallowed  wall  I 
And  green  for  ever  be  the  groves, 

And  bright  the  flowery  sod, 
Where  first  the  child's  glad  spirit  loves 

Its  country  and  its  God  1 


31 


362  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   MAGNETIC   TELEGKAPH. 

J.  GILBORNE  LYONS. 
ALONG  the  smooth  and  slender  wires, 

The  sleepless  heralds  run 
Fast  as  the  clear  and  living  rays 

Go  streaming  from  the  sun : 
No  peals  or  flashes  heard  or  seen 

Their  wondrous  flight  betray, 
And  yet  their  words  are  strongly  felt 

In  cities  far  away. 

Nor  summer's  heat,  nor  winter's  hail 

Can  check  their  rapid  course  ; — 
They  meet  unmoved  the  fierce  wind's  rage, — 

The  rough  wave's  sweeping  force  : — 
In  the  long  night  of  rain  and  wrath, 

As  in  the  blaze  of  day, 
They  rush,  with  news  of  weal  or  woe, 

To  thousands  far  away. 

l£ut  faster  still  than  tidings  borne 

On  that  electric  cord, 
Rise  the  pure  thoughts  of  him  who  loves 

The  Christian's  life  and  Lord,— 
Of  him  who,  taught  in  smiles  and  tears 

With  fervent  lips  to  pray, 
Maintains  high  converse  here  below 

With  bright  worlds  far  away. 

Ay  !  though  nor  outward  wish  is  breathed,     . 

Nor  outward  answer  given, 
The  sighing  of  that  humble  heart 

Is  known  and  felt  in  Heaven : — 
Those  long  frail  wires  may  bend  and  break, 

Those  viewless  heralds  stray, 
But  Faith's  least  word  shall  reach  the  throne 
Of  God,  though  far  away. 


MATIN  BELLS. 

A.  0.  Cox*. 
THE  Sun  is  up  betimes, 

And  the  dappled  East  is  blushing, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  36o 

And  the  merry  matin-chimes, 

They  are  gushing — Christian — gushing ! 
They  are  tolling  in  the  tower, 

For  another  day  begun  ; 
And  to  hail  the  rising  hour 

Of  a  brighter,  brighter  Sun  ! 
Rise — Christian — rise  ! 

For  a  sunshine  brighter  far 
Is  breaking  o'er  thine  eyes, 

Than  the  bonny  morning  star  ! 

The  lark  is  in  the  sky, 

And  his  morning-note  is  pouring : 
He  hath  a  wing  to  fly, 

So  he's  soaring — Christian — soaring  I 
His  nest  is  on  the  ground, 

But  only  in  the  night ; 
For  he  loves  the  matin-sound, 

And  the  highest  heaven's  height. 
Hark — Christian — hark ! 

At  heaven-door  he  sings  ! 
And  be  thou  like  the  lark, 

With  thy  soaring  spirit- wings ! 

The  merry  matin-bells, 

In  their  watch-tower  they  are  swinging  ; 
For  the  day  is  o'er  the  dells, 

And  they're  singing — Christian — singing  I 
They  have  caught  the  morning  beam 

Through  their  ivied  turret's  wreath, 
And  the  chancel-window's  gleam 

Is  glorious  beneath : 
Go — Christian — go, 

For  the  altar  flameth  there, 
And  the  snowy  vestments  glow, 

Of  the  presbyter  at  prayer ! 

There  is  morning  incense  flung 

From  the  child-like  lily-flowers  ; 
And  their  fragrant  censer  swung, 

Make  it  ours — Christian — ours  ! 
And  hark,  the  morning  hymn, 

And  the  organ-peals  we  love ! 
They  sound  like  cherubim 

At  their  orisons  above  ! 


364          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Pray — Christian — pray, 
At  the  bonny  peep  of  dawn, 

Ere  the  dew-drop  and  the  spray 
That  christen  it,  are  gone ! 


LIGHT. 

W.  P.  PALMER. 

FROM  the  quickened  womb  of  the  primal  gloom 

The  sun  rolled  black  and  bare, 
Till  I  wove  him  a  vest  for  his  Ethiop  breast, 

Of  the  threads  of  my  golden  hair ; 
And  when  the  broad  tent  of  the  firmament 

Arose  on  its  airy  spars, 
I  pencilled  the  hue  of  its  matchless  blue, 

And  spangled  it  round  with  stars. 

I  painted  the  flowers  of  the  Eden  bowers, 

And  their  leaves  of  living  green, 
And  mine  were  the  dyes  in  the  sinless  eyes 

Of  Eden's  virgin  queen  ; 
And  when  the  fiend's  art,  on  her  trustful  heart, 

Had  fastened  its  mortal  spell, 
In  the  silvery  sphere  of  ttie  first-born  tear 

To  the  trembling  earth  I  fell. 

When  the  waves  that  burst  o'er  a  world  accursed 

Their  work  of  wrath  had  sped, 
And  the  Ark's  lone  few,  the  tried  and  true, 

Came  forth  among  the  dead ; 
With  the  wondrous  gleams  of  my  braided  beams 

I  bade  their  terrors  cease  ; 
As  I  wrote  on  the  roll  of  the  storm's  dark  scroll 

God's  covenant  of  peace. 

Like  a  pall  at  rest  on  a  pulseless  breast, 

Night's  funeral  shadow  slept, 
Where  shepherd  swains  on  the  Bethlehem  plains 

Their  lonely  vigils  kept ; 
When  I  flashed  on  their  sight  the  heralds  briglit 

Of  heaven's  redeeming  plan, 
As  they  chanted  the  morn  of  a  Saviour  born — 

Joy,  joy  to  the  outcast  man  ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  365 

Equal  favor  I  show  to  the  lofty  and  low, 

On  the  just  and  unjust  I  descend ; 
E'en  the  blind,  whose  vain  spheres  roll  in  darkness  and  tears, 

Feel  my  smile  the  best  smile  of  a  friend : 
Nay,  the  flower  of  the  waste  by  my  love  is  embraced, 

As  the  rose  in  the  garden  of  kings ; 
As  the  chrysalis  bier  of  the  worm  I  appear, 

And  lo  !  the  gay  butterfly's  wings  ! 

The  desolate  Morn,  like  a  mourner  forlorn, 

Conceals  all  the  pride  of  her  charms, 
Till  I  bid  the  bright  Hours  chase  the  Night  from  her  bowers, 

And  lead  the  young  Day  to  her  arms ; 
And  when  the  gay  rover  seeks  Eve  for  his  lover, 

And  sinks  to  her  balmy  repose, 
I  wrap  their  soft  rest  by  the  zephyr-fanned  west, 

In  curtains  of  amber  and  rose. 

From  my  sentinel  steep,  by  the  night-brooded  deep, 

I  gaze  with  unslumbering  eye, 
When  the  cynosure  star  of  the  mariner 

Is  blotted  from  the  sky ; 
And  guided  by  me  through  the  merciless  sea, 

Though  sped  by  the  hurricane's  wings, 
His  compassless  bark,  lone,  weltering,  dark, 

To  the  haven-home  safely  he  brings. 

I  waken  the  flowers  in  their  dew-spangled  bowers, 

The  birds  in  their  chambers  of  green, 
And  mountain  and  plain  glow  with  beauty  again, 

As  they  bask  in  my  matin al  sheen. 
Or,  if  such  the  glad  worth  of  my  presence  to  earth, 

Though  fitful  and  fleeting  the  while, 
What  glories  must  rest  on  the  home  of  the  blessed, 

Ever  bright  with  the  Deity's  smile  ! 


THE   WORSHIP   OF   NATURE. 

THE  ocean  looketh  up  to  heaven, 

As  'twere  a  living  thing  ; 
The  homage  of  its  waves  is  given 

In  ceaseless  worshipping. 
31* 


366          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

They  kneel  upon  the  sloping  sand, 
As  bends  the  human  knee, 

A  beautiful  and  tireless  band, 
The  priesthood  of  the  sea ! 

They  pour  the  glittering  treasures  out 
Which  in  the  deep  have  birth, 

And  chant  their  awful  hymns  about 
The  watching  hills  of  earth. 

The  green  earth  sends  its  incense  up 
From  every  mountain-shrine, 

From  every  flower  and  dewy  cup 
That  greeteth  the  sunshine. 

The  forest-tops  are  lowly  cast 
O'er  breezy  hill  and  glen, 

As  if  a  prayerful  spirit  passed 
On  nature  as  on  men. 

The  clouds  weep  o'er  the  fallen  world, 
E'en  as  repentant  love  ; 

Ere,  to  the  blessed  breeze  unfurled, 
They  fade  in  light  above. 

The  sky  is  as  a  temple's  arch, 
The  blue  and  wavy  air 

Is  glorious  with  the  spirit-march 
Of  messengers  at  prayer. 

The  gentle  moon,  the  kindling  sun, 
The  many  stars  are  given 

As  shrines  to  burn  earth's  incense  on, 
The  altar-fires  of  Heaven  1 


FINGAL  AT   CARRIC-THUBA. 

OSSIATT. 

MORNING  rose  in  the  east ;  the  blue  waters  rolled  in  light.  Fingal 
bade  his  sails  to  rise  ;  the  winds  came  rustling  from  their  hills.  Inis- 
tore  rose  to  sight,  and  Carric-thura's  mossy  towers !  But  the  sign  of 
distress  was  on  their  top :  the  warning  flame  edged  with  smoke.  The 
king  of  Morven  struck  his  breast :  he  assumed  at  once  his  spear.  His 
darkened  brow  bends  forward  to  the  coast :  he  looks  back  to  the  lag- 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  367 

ging  winds.  His  hair  is  disordered  on  his  back.  The  silence  of  the 
king  is  terrible ! 

Night  came  down  on  the  sea :  Rotha's  bay  received  the  ship.  A 
rock  bends  along  the  coast  with  all  its  echoing  wood.  On  the  top  is 
the  circle  of  Loda,  the  mossy  stone  of  power !  A  narrow  plain  spreads 
beneath,  covered  with  grass  and  aged  trees,  which  the  midnight  winds, 
in  their  wrath,  had  torn  from  their  shaggy  rock.  The  blue  course  of  a 
stream  is  there  !  the  lonely  blast  of  ocean  pursues  the  thistle's  beard. 
The  flame  of  three  oaks  arose :  the  feast  is  spread  round  ;  but  the  soul 
of  the  king  is  sad,  for  Carric-thura's  chief  distrest. 

The  wan  cold  moon  rose  in  the  east.  Sleep  descended  on  the 
youths !  Their  blue  helmets  glitter  to  the  beam  ;  the  fading  fire 
decays.  But  sleep  did  not  rest  on  the  king  :  he  rose  in  the  midst  of 
his  arms,  and  slowly  ascended  the  hill,  to  behold  the  flame  of  Sarno's 
tower. 

The  flame  was  dim  and  distant ;  the  moon  hid  her  red  face  in  the 
east.  A  blast  came  from  the  mountain,  on  its  wings  was  the  spirit  of 
Loda.  He  came  to  his  place  in  his  terrors,  and  shook  his  dusky  spear. 
His  eyes  appear  like  flames  in  his  dark  face ;  his  voice  is  like  distant 
thunder.  Fingal  advanced  his  spear  in  night,  and  raised  his  voice  on 
high. 

Son  of  night,  retire  ;  call  thy  winds,  and  fly !  Why  dost  thou  come 
to  my  presence,  with  thy  shadowy  arms  ?  Do  I  fear  thy  gloomy  form, 
spirit  of  dismal  Loda !  Weak  is  thy  shield  of  clouds ;  feeble  is  that 
meteor,  thy  sword  !  The  blast  rolls  them  together ;  and  thou  thyself 
art  lost.  Fly  from  my  presence,  son  of  night !  call  thy  winds,  and  fly ! 

Dost  thou  force  me  from  my  place  ?  replied  the  hollow  voice.  The 
people  bend  before  me.  I  turn  the  battle  in  the  field  of  the  brave.  I 
look  on  the  nations,  and  they  vanish :  my  nostrils  pour  the  blasts  of 
death.  I  come  abroad  on  the  winds ;  the  tempests  are  before  my  face. 
But  my  dwelling  is  calm,  above  the  clouds  ;  the  fields  of  my  rest  are 
pleasant. 

Dwell  in  thy  pleasant  fields,  said  the  king :  Let  Comhal's  son  be  for- 
got. Do  my  steps  ascend  from  my  hills  into  thy  peaceful  plains  ?  Do 
I  meet  thee  with  a  spear  on  thy  cloud,  spirit  of  dismal  Loda  ?  Why 
then  dost  thou  frown  on  me  ?  Why  shake  thine  airy  spear  ?  Thou 
frownest  in  vain  :  I  i^ver  fled  from  the  mighty  in  war.  And  shall  the 
sons  of  the  wind  frighten  the  king  of  Morven  ?  No !  he  knows  the 
weakness  of  their  arms ! 

Fly  to  thy  land,  replied  the  form  :  receive  thy  wind  and  fly  ?  The 
blasts  are  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand ;  the  course  of  the  storm  is  mine. 
The  king  of  Sora  is  my  son,  he  bends  at  the  stone  of  my  power.  His 
battle  is  around  Carric-thura ;  and  he  will  prevail !  Fly  to  thy  land, 
son  of  Comhal,  or  feel  my  flaming  wrath. 


368  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

He  lifted  high  his  shadowy  spear !  He  bent  forward  his  dreadful 
height.  Fingal,  advancing,  drew  his  sword ;  the  blade  of  dark-brown 
Luno.  The  gleaming  path  of  the  steel  winds  through  the  gloomy 
ghost.  The  form  fell  shapeless  into  the  air,  like  a  column  of  smoke, 
which  the  staff  of  the  boy  disturbs  as  it  rises  from  the  half-extinguished 
furnace. 

The  spirit  of  Lodu  shrieked,  as,  rolled  into  himself,  he  rose  on  the 
wind.  Inistore  shook  at  the  sound.  The  waves  heard  it  on  the  deep. 
They  stopped  in  their  course  with  fear ;  the  friends  of  Fingal  started 
at  once,  and  took  their  heavy  spears.  They  missed  the  king :  they 
rose  in  rage  ;  all  their  arms  resound ! 


FOKGIVENESS. 

ANONYMOUS. 
MAN  hath  two  attendant  angels 

Ever  waiting  at  his  side, 
With  him  whereso'er  he  wanders, 

Whereso'er  his  feet  abide ; 
One  to  warn  him  when  he  walketh 

And  rebuke  him  if  he  stray  ; 
One  to  leave  him  to  his  nature, 

And  so  let  him  go  his  way. 

Two  recording  spirits,  reading 

All  his  life's  minutest  part, 
Looking  in  his  soul,  and  listening 

To  the  beatings  of  his  heart ; 
Each,  with  pen  of  fire  electric, 

Writes  the  good  or  evil  wrought — 
Writes  with  truth,  that  adds  not,  errs  not, 

Purpose — action — word — and  thought. 

One,  the  Teacher  and  Reprover, 

Marks  each  heaven-deserving  deed : 
Graves  it  with  the  lightning's  vigor* 

Seals  it  with  the  lightning's  «peed; 
For  the  good  that  man  achieveth — 

Good  beyond  an  angel's  doubt — 
Such  remains  for  aye  and  ever, 

And  cannot  be  blotted  out. 

One  (severe  and  silent  Watcher!) 
Noteth  every  crime  and  guile, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  369 

Writes  it  With  a  holy  duty, 

Seals  it  not,  but  waits  awhile ; 
If  the  evil  doer  cry  not — 

"  God  forgive  me  I"  ere  he  sleeps, 
Then  the  sad,  stern  spirit  seals  it, 

And  the  gentler  spirit  weeps. 

To  the  sinner,  if  Repenfance 

Comeih  soon,  with  healing  wings, 
Then  the  dark  account  is  cancelled, 

And  each  joyful  angel  sings; 
Whilst  the  erring  one  perceiveth — 

Now  his  troublous  hour  is  o'er — 
Music,  fragrance  wafted  to  him 

From  a  yet  untrodden  shore ! 

Mild  and  mighty  is  Forgiveness, 

Meekly  worn,  if  meekly  won ; 
Let  our  hearts  go  forth  to  seek  it 

Ere  the  setting  of  the  sun  ! 
Angels  wait  and  long  to  hear  us 

Ask  it  ere  the  time  be  flown ; 
Let  us  give  it  and  receive  it, 

Ere  the  midnight  cometh  down ! 


SONNET. 

TRENCH. 

ULYSSES,  sailing  by  the  Sirens'  isle, 
Sealed  first  his  comrades'  ears,  then  bade  them  fast 
Bind  him  with  many  a  fetter  to  the  mast, 
Lest  those  sweet  voices  should  their  souls  beguile, 
And  to  their  ruin  flatter  them,  the  while 
Their  homeward  bark  was  sailing  swiftly  past ; 
And  thus  the  peril  they  behind  them  cast, 
Though  chased  by  those  weird  voices  many  a  mile. 
But  yet  a  nobler  cunning  Orpheus  used: 
No  fetter  he  put  on,  nor  stopped  his  ear  ; 
But  ever,  as  he  passed,  sang  high  and  clear 
The  blisses  of  the  gods,  their  holy  joys, 
And  with  diviner  melody  confused 
And  marred  earth's  sweetest  music  to  a  noise. 


2A 


S70  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   EXECUTION. 

BARHAM. 

THE  clock  strikes  Four ! 

Round  the  debtor's  door 
Are  gathered  a  couple  of  thousands  or  more ; 

As  many  await 

At  the  press-yard  gate, 

Till  slowly  its  folding-doors  open  ;  and  straight 
The  mob  divides  ;  and  between  their  ranks 
A  wagon  comes  loaded  with  posts  and  with  planks. 

The  clock  strikes  Five  ! 
The  sheriffs  arrive, 

And  the  crowd  is  so  great  that  the  street  seems  alive ; 
*  *  *  *•  *  * 

Sweetly,  oh  I  sweetly,  the  morning  breaks 

With  roseate  streaks, 

Like  the  first  faint  blush  on  a  maiden's  cheeks ; 
Seemed  as  that  mild  and  clear  blue  sky 
Smiled  upon  all  things  far  and  nigh, — 
All, — save  the  wretch  condemned  to  die ! 
Alack  !  that  ever  so  fair  a  sun 
As  that  which  its  course  has  now  begun, 
Should  rise  on  such  scenes  of  misery ! 
Should  gild  with  rays  so  light  and  free 
That  dismal,  dark-frowning  gallows  tree  ! 

And  hark  ! — a  sound  comes  big  with  fate, 

The  clock  from  St.  Sepulchre's  tower  strikes— Eight  !— 

List  to  that  low  funeral  bell : 

It  is  tolling,  alas  !  a  living  man's  knell ! 

And  see  ! — from  forth  that  opening  door 

They  come — he  steps  the  threshold  o'er 

Who  never  shall  tread  upon  threshold  more. — 

God !  'tis  a  fearsome  thing  to  see 

That  pale  man's  mute  agony, 

The  glare  of  that  wild  despairing  eye, 

Now  bent  on  the  crowd,  now  turned  to  the  sky, 

As  though  'twere  scanning,  in  doubt  and  in  fear, 

The  path  of  the  spirit's  unknown  career ; 

Those  pinioned  arms,  those  hands  that  ne'er 

Shall  be  lifted  again, — not  even  in  prayer ; 

That  heavinp-  chest ! — Enough,  'tis  done ! — 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  371 

The  bolt  has  fallen  ! — The  spirit  is  gone — 
For  weal  or  for  woe  is  known  to  but  One ! — 
Oh  !  'twas  a  fearsome  sight !     Ah  me  ! 
A  deed  to  shudder  at, — not  to  see. 


THE   BRITISH   BOW. 

YE  spirits  of  our  fathers, 

The  hardy,  bold,  and  free, 
Who  chased  o'er  Cressy's  gory  field 

A  fourfold  enemy  ! 
From  us  who  love  your  sylvan  game, 

To  you  the  song  shall  flow, 
To  the  fame  of  your  name 

Who  so  bravely  bent  the  bow. 

'Twas  merry  then  in  England, 

(Our  ancient  records  tell,) 
With  Robin  Hood  and  Little  John 

Who  dwelt  by  down  and  dell ; 
And  yet  we  love  the  bold  outlaw 

Who  braved  a  tyrant  foe, 
Whose  cheer  was  the  deer, 

And  his  only  friend  the  bow ! 

'Twas  merry  then  in  England 

In  autumn's  dewy  morn, 
When  echo  started  from  her  hill 

To  hear  the  bugle-horn. 
And  beauty,  mirth,  and  warrior  worth 

In  garb  of  green  did  go 
The  shade  to  invade 

With  the  arrow  and  the  bow. 

Ye  spirits  of  our  fathers ! 

Extend  to  us  your  care, 
Among  your  children  yet  are  found 

The  valiant  and  the  fair ! 
'Tis  merry  yet  in  Old  England, 

Full  well  her  archers  know, 
And  shame  on  their  name 

Who  despise  the  British  bow. 


372  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


MOENING. 

HUES  of  the  rich  unfolding  morn, 
That,  ere  the  glorious  sun  be  born, 
By  some  soft  touch  invisible 
Around  his  path  are  taught  to  swell ; — 

Thou  rustling  breeze  so  fresh  and  gay, 
That  dancest  forth  at  opening  day, 
And  brushing  by  with  joyous  wing, 
Wakenest  each  little  leaf  to  sing ; — 

Ye  fragrant  clouds  of  dewy  steam, 
By  which  deep  grove  and  tangled  stream 
Pay,  for  soft  rains  in  season  given, 
Their  tribute  to  the  genial  heaven ; — 

Why  waste  your  treasures  of  delight 
Upon  our  thankless,  joyless  sight ; 
Who  day  by  day  to  sin  awake, 
Seldom  of  Heaven  and  you  partake  ? 

Oh !  timely  happy,  timely  wise, 
Hearts  that  with  rising  morn  arise  1 
Eyes  that  the  beam  celestial  view, 
Which  evermore  makes  all  things  new  I 

New  every  morning  is  the  love      * 
Our  wakening  and  uprising  prove ; 
Through  sleep  and  darkness  safely  brought, 
Restored  to  life,  and  power,  and  thought. 

New  mercies,  each  returning  day, 

Hover  around  us  while  we  pray ; 

New  perils  past,  new  sins  forgiven, 

New  thoughts  of  God,  new  hopes  of  Heaven. 

If  on  our  daily  course  our  mind 

Be  set  to  hallow  all  we  find, 

New  treasures  still,  of  countless  price,x 

God  will  provide  for  sacrifice. 

Old  friends,  old  scenes,  will  lovelier  be, 
As  more  of  Heaven  in  each  we  see : 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  373 

Some  softening  gleam  of  love  and  prayer 
Shall  dawn  on  every  cross  and  care. 

As  for  some  dear  familiar  strain 
Untired  we  ask,  and  ask  again, 
Ever,  in  its  melodious  store, 
Finding  a  spell  unheard  before ; 

Such  is  the  bliss  of  souls  serene, 

When  they  have  sworn,  and  steadfast  mean, 

Counting  the  cost,  in  all  t'  espy 

Their  God,  in  all  themselves  deny. 

0  could  we  learn  that  sacrifice, 
What  lights  would  all  around  us  rise ! 
How  would  our  hearts  with  wisdom  talk 
Along  Life's  dullest,  dreariest  walk ! 

We  need  not  bid,  for  cloistered  cell, 
Our  neighbor  and  our  work  farewell, 
Nor  strive  to  wind  ourselves  too  high 
For  sinful  man  beneath  the  sky : 

The  trivial  round,  the  common  task, 
Would  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask ; 
Room  to  deny  ourselves  ;  a  road 
To  bring  us,  daily,  nearer  God. 

Seek  we  no  more  ;  content  with  these, 
Let  present  Rapture,  Comfort,  Ease, 
As  Heaven  shall  bid  them,  come  and  go:— • 
The  secret  this  of  Rest  below. 

Only,  0  Lord,  in  Thy  dear  love 
Fit  us  for  perfect  Rest  above ; 
And  help  us,  this  and  every  day, 
To  live  more  nearly  as  we  pray. 


EVENING. 

EKBUC. 

;Tis  gone,  that  bright  and  orbed  blaze, 
Fast  fading  from  our  wistful  gaze ; 
Yon  mantling  cloud  has  hid  from  sight 
The  last  faint  pulse  of  quivering  light. 
32 


374  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

In  darkness  and  in  weariness 
The  traveller  on  his  way  must  press, 
!No  gleam  to -watch  on  tree  or  tower, 
Whiling  away  the  lonesome  hour. 

Sun  of  my  soul !  Thou  Saviour  dear, 
It  is  not  night  if  Thou  be  near : 
Oh  !  may  no  earth-born  cloud  arise 
To  hide  Thee  from  Thy  servant's  eyes. 

When  round  Thy  wondrous  works  below 
My  searching  rapturous  glance  I  throw, 
Tracing  out  Wisdom,  Power,  and  Love, 
In  earth  or  sky,  in  stream  or  grove ; — 

Or  by  the  light  Thy  words  disclose 
Watch  Time's  full  river  as  it  flows, 
Scanning  Thy  gracious  Providence, 
Where  not  too  deep  for  mortal  sense : — 

When  with  dear  friends  sweet  talk  I  hold, 
And  all  the  flowers  of  life  unfold ; 
Let  not  my  heart  within  me  burn, 
Except  in  all  I  Thee  discern. 

When  the  soft  dews  of  kindly  sleep 
My  wearied  eyelids  gently  steep, 
Be  my  last  thought,  how  sweet  to  rest 
For  ever  on  my  Saviour's  breast. 

Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  Thee  I  cannot  live : 
Abide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh, 
For  without  Thee  I  dare  not  die. 

Thou  Framer  of  the  light  and  dark, 
Steer  through  the  tempest  Thine  own  ark : 
Amid  the  howling  wintry  sea 
We  are  in  port  if  we  have  Thee. 

The  Rulers  of  this  Christian  land, 
'Twixt  Thee  and  us  ordained  to  stand, — 
Guide  thou  their  course,  0  Lord,  aright, 
Let  all  do  all  as  in  Thy  sight. 


11ECITAIIONS  IN  POETRY.  375 

Oh!  by  Thine  own  sad  burthen,  borne 
So  meekly  up  the  hill  of  scorn, 
Teach  Thou  Thy  Priests  their  daily  cross 
To  bear  as  Thine,  nor  count  it  loss  ! 

If  some  poor  wandering  child  of  Thine 
Have  spurned,  to-day,  the  voice  divine, 
Now,  Lord,  the  gracious  work  begin  ; 
Let  him  no  more  lie  down  in  sin. 

Watch  by  the  sick :  enrich  the  poor 
With  blessings  from  Thy  boundless  store : 
Be  every  mourner's  sleep  to-night 
Like  infant's  slumbers,  pure  and  light. 

Come  near  and  bless  us  when  we  wake, 
Ere  through  the  world  our  way  we  take ; 
Till  in  the  ocean  of  Thy  love 
We  lose  ourselves  in  heaven  above. 


THE   HAUNTED   PALACE. 

E.  A.  Poz. 
IN  the  greenest  of  our  valleys, 

By  good  angels  tenanted, 
Once  a  fair  and  stately  palace 

(Snow-white  palace)  reared  its  head. 
In  the  monarch  Thought's  dominion 

It  stood  there ! 
Never  seraph  spread  a  pinion 

Over  fabric  half  so  fair. 

Banners,  yellow,  glorious,  golden, 

On  its  roof  did  float  and  flow ; 
(This,  all  this,  was  in  the  olden 

Time,  long  ago.) 
And  every  gentle  air  that  dallied, 

In  that  sweet  day, 
Along  the  ramparts  plumed  and  pallid, 

A  winged  odor  went  away. 

Wanderers  in  that  happy  valley 

Through  two  luminous  windows  saw 


376  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Spirits  moving  musically, 

To  a  lute's  well-tuned  law  ; 
Round  about  a  throne,  where,  sitting 

(Porphyrogene !) 
In  state  his  glory  well-befitting, 

The  ruler  of  the  realm  was  seen. 

And  all  with  pearl  and  ruby  glowing 

Was  the  fair  palace-door, 
Through  which  came  flowing,  flowing,  flowing, 

And  sparkling  evermore, 
A  troop  of  echoes,-  whose  sweet  duty 

Was  but  to  sing, 
In  voices  of  surpassing  beauty, 

The  wit  and  wisdom  of  their  king. 

But  evil  things,  in  robes  of  sorrow, 

Assailed  the  monarch's  high  estate  ; 
(Ah  !  let  us  mourn,  for  never  morrow 

Shall  dawn  upon  him,  desolate  !) 
And  round  about  his  home  the  glory 

That  blushed  and  bloomed, 
Is  but  a  dim-remembered  story 

Of  the  old  time  entombed. 

And  travellers  now  within  that  valley, 

Through  the  red-litten  windows  see 
Vast  forms,  that  move  fantastically 

To  a  discordant  melody ; 
While,  like  a  rapid,  ghastly  river, 

Through  the  pale  door, 
A  hideous  throng  rush  out  for  ever, 

And  laugh — but  smile  no  more. 


STAND   LIKE   AN   ANVIL. 

BISHOP  DoAire. 
"  STAND,  like  an  anvil/'  when  the  stroke 

Of  stalwart  men  falls  fierce  and  fast: 
Storms  but  more  deeply  root  the  oak, 
Whose  brawny  arms  embrace  the  blast. 

'  Stand,  like  an  anvil,"  when  the  sparks 
Fly,  far  and  wide  a  fiery  shower ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  377 

Virtue  and  truth  must  still  be  marks, 
Where  malice  proves  its  want  of  power. 

"  Stand,  like  an  anvil,"  when  the  bar 

Lies,  red  and  glowing,  on  its  breast: 
Duty  shall  be  life's  leading  star, 

And  conscious  innocence  its  rest. 

"  Stand,  like  an  anvil,"  when  the  sound 

Of  ponderous  hammers  pains  the  ear: 
Thine,  but  the  still  and  stern  rebound 

Of  the  great  heart  that  cannot  fear. 

"  Stand,  like  an  anvil ;"  noise  and  heat 

Are  born  of  earth,  and  die  with  time : 
The  soul,  like  God,  its  source  and  seat, 

Is  solemn,  still,  serene,  sublime. 


LIFE   IN  THE   AUTUMN  WOODS. 

P.  PENDLETON  COOKB. 
SUMMER  has  gone, 

And  fruitful  autumn  has  advanced  so  far 
That  there  is  warmth,  not  heat,  in  the  broad  sun, 
And  you  may  look,  with  naked  eye,  upon 

The  ardors  of  his  car ; 

The  stealthy  frosts,  whom  his  spent  looks  embolden, 
Are  making  the  green  leaves  golden. 

What  a  brave  splendor 

Is  in  the  October  air  !     How  rich,  and  clear, 
And  bracing,  and  all-joyous !  we  must  render 
Love  to  the  spring-time,  with  its  sproutings  tender, 

As  to  a  child  quite  dear ; 
But  autumn  is  a  thing  of  perfect  glory, 

A  manhood  not  yet  hoary. 

I  love  the  woods,   . 

In  this  good  season  of  the  liberal  year  ; 
I  love  to  seek  their  leafy  solitudes* 
And  give  myself  to  melancholy  moods, 

With  no  intruder  near, 
And  find  strange  lessons,  as  I  sit  and  ponder, 

In  every  natural  wonder. 
31* 


378  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

But  not  alone. 

As  Shakspeare's  melancholy  courtier  loved  Ardennes, 
Love  I  the  browning  forest ;  and  I  own 
I  would  not  oft  have  mused,  as  he,  but  flown 

To  hunt  with  Amiens — 
And  little  thought,  as  up  the  bold  deer  bounded, 

Of  the  sad  creature  wounded. 

What  passionate 

And  keen  delight  is  in  the  proud  swift  chase ! 
Go  out  what  time  the  lark  at  heaven's  red  gate 
Soars  joyously  singing — quite  infuriate 

With  the  high  pride  of  his  place ; 
What  time  the  unrisen  sun  arrays  the  morning 

In  its  first  bright  adorning. 

Hark  1  the  quick  horn — 
As  sweet  to  hear  as  any  clarion — 
Piercing  with  silver  call  the  ear  of  morn  ; 
And  mark  the  steeds,  stout  Curtal  and  Topthorne 

And  Greysteil  and  the  Don — 
Each  one  of  them  his  fiery  mood  displaying 

With  pawing  and  with  neighing. 

Urge  your  swift  horse, 
After  the  crying  hounds  in  this  fresh  hour, 
Vanquish  high  hills — stem  perilous  streams  perforce, 
On  the  free  plain  give  free  wings  to  your  course, 

And  you  will  know  the  power 
Of  the  brave  chase — and  how  of  griefs  the  sorest 

A  cure  is  in  the  forest. 

Or  stalk  the  deer  ; 

The  same  red  lip  of  dawn  has  kissed  the  hills, 
The  gladdest  sounds  are  crowding  on  your  ear, 
There  is  a  life  in  all  the  atmosphere : — 

Your  very  nature  fills 
With  the  fresh  hour,  as  up  the  hills  aspiring 

You  climb  with  limbs  untiring. 

A  strong  jay  fills 

(A  joy  beyond  the  tongue's  expressive  power) 
My  heart  in  autumn  weather — fills  and  thrills ! 
And  I  would  rather  stalk  the  breezy  hills, 

Descending  to  my  bower 


KECITATIONS  IN  POET11Y.  379 

Nightly,  by  the  sweet  spirit  of  Peace  attended, 
Than  pine  where  life  is  splendid. 


NIGHT   STUDY. 

I  AM  alone ;  and  yet 
In  the  still  solitude  there  is  a  rush 

Around  me,  as  were  met 
A  crowd  of  viewless  wings  ;  I  hear  a  gush 
Of  uttered  harmonies — heaven  meeting  earth, 
Making  it  to  rejoice  with  holy  mirth. 

Ye  winged  Mysteries, 
Sweeping  before  my  spirit's  conscious  eye, 

Beckoning  me  to  arise, 
And  go  forth  from  my  very  self,  and  fly 
With  you  far  in  the  unknown,  unseen  immense 
Of  worlds  beyond  our  sphere — What  are  ye  ?    Whence  ? 

Ye  eloquent  voices, 
Now  soft  as  breathings  of  a  distant  flute, 

Now  strong  as  when  rejoices, 
The  trumpet  in  the  victory  and  pursuit ; 
Strange  are  ye,  yet  familiar,  as  ye  call 
My  soul  to  wake  from  earth's  sense  and  its  thrall. 

I  know  you  now — I  see 
With  more  than  natural  light — ye  are  the  good, 

The  wise  departed — ye 

Are  come  from  heaven  to  claim  your  brotherhood 
With  mortal  brother,  struggling  in  the  strife 
And  chains,  which  once  were  yours  in  this  sad  life. 

Ye  hover  o'er  the  page 
Ye  traced  in  ancient  days  with  glorious  thought 

For  many  a  distant  age  ; 
Ye  love  to  watch  the  inspiration  caught 
From  your  sublime  examples,  and  so  cheer 
The  fainting  student  to  your  high  career. 

Ye  come  to  nerve  the  soul 
Like  him  who  near  the  Atoner  stood,  when  He, 

Trembling,  saw  round  him  roll 
The  wrathful  potents  of  Gethsemaue, 


380  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

With  courage  strong :  the  promise  ye  have  known 
And  proved,  rapt  for  me  from  the  Eternal  throne. 

Still  keep  1  0,  keep  me  near  you, 
Compass  me  round  with  your  immortal  wings : 

Still  let  my  glad  soul  hear  you 
Striking  your  triumphs  from  your  golden  strings, 
Until  with  you  I  mount,  and  join  the  song, 
An  angel,  like  you,  'mid  the  white-robed  throng. 


COLUMBUS. 

(On  looking  at  a  print  after  a  picture  by  Parmeggiano.) 

B.  SIMMONS. 
FAME,  LOVE,  AMBITION  !  what  are  ye, 

With  all  your  wasting  passions'  war, 
To  the  great  strife  that,  like  a  sea, 
O'erswept  His  soul  tumultuously, 

Whose  face  gleams  on  me  like  a  star — 
A  star  that  gleams  through  murky  clouds — 
As  here  begirt  by  struggling  crowds 
A  spell-bound  loiterer  I  stand, 
Before  a  print-shop  in  the  Strand  ? 
What  are  your  eager  hopes  and  fears 
Whose  minutes  wither  men  like  years — 
Your  schemes  defeated  or  fulfilled, 
.To  the  emotions  dread  that  thrilled 
His  frame  on  that  October  night, 

When,  watching  by  the  lonely  mast, 
He  saw  on  shore  the  moving  light, 
And  felt,  though  darkness  veiled  the  sight, 

The  long-sought  world  was  his  at  last  ? 

How  Fancy's  boldest  glances  fail, 

Contemplating  each  hurrying  mood 
Of  thought  that  to  that  aspect  pale 

Sent  up  the  heart's  o'erboiling  flood 
Through  that  vast  vigil,  while  his  eyes 
Watched  till  the  slow  reluctant  skies 
Should  kindle,  and  the  vision  dread, 
Of  all  his  livelong  years  be  read ! 
In  youth,  his  faith-led  spirit  doomed 

Still  to  be  baffled  and  betrayed, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  381 

His  manhood's  vigorous  noon  consumed 

Ere  Power  bestowed  its  niggard  aid ; 
That  morn  of  summer,  dawning  gray, 
When,  from  Huelva's  humble  bay, 
He,  full  of  hope,  before  the  gale 
Turned  on  the  hopeless  world  his  sail, 
And  steered  for  seas  untracked,  unknown, 
And  westward  still  sailed  on — sailed  on — 
Sailed  on  till  ocean  seemed  to  be 
All  shoreless  as  eternity, 
Till,  from  its  long-loved  star  estranged, 
At  last  the  constant  needle  changed, 
And  fierce  amid  his  murmuring  crew 
Prone  terror  into  treason  grew ; 
While  on  his  tortured  spirit  rose, 
More  dire  than  portents,  toils  or  foes, 
The  awaiting  world's  loud  jeers  and  scorn 
Yelled  o'er  his  profitless  Return ; 
No — none  through  that  dark  watch  may  trace 

The  feelings  wild  beneath  whose  swell, 
As  heaves  the  bark  the  billows'  race, 

His  Being  rose  and  fell ! 
Yet  over  doubt,  and  pride,  and  pain, 
O'er  all  that  flashed  through  breast  and  brain, 
As  with  those  grand,  immortal  eyes 

He  stood — his  heart  on  fire  to  know 
When  morning  next  illumed  the  skies, 

What  wonders  in  its  light  should  glow — 
O'er  all  one  thought  must,  in  that  hour, 
Have  swayed  supreme — Power,  conscious  Power — 
The  lofty  sense-  that  Truths  conceived 

And  born  of  his  own  starry  mind, 
And  fostered  into  might,  achieved 

A  new  creation  for  mankind  ! 
And  when  from  off  that  ocean  calm 

The  tropic's  dusky  curtain  cleared, 
And  those  green  shores  and  banks  of  balm, 

And  rosy-tinted  hills  appeared 
Silent  and  bright  as  Eden,  ere 
Earth's  breezes  shook  one  blossom  there — 
Against  that  hour's  proud  tumult  weighed, 
Love,  Fame,  Ambition,  how  ye  fade  ! 

Thou  Luther  of  the  darkened  deep  ! 
Nor  less  intrepid,  too,  than  He 


382  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Whose  courage  broke  Earth's  bigot  sleep, 

Whilst  thine  unbarred  the  sea — 
Like  his,  'twas  thy  predestined  fate 

Against  your  grim  benighted  age, 
With  all  its  fiends  of  Fear  and  Hate, 
War,  single-handed  war,  to  wage, 
And  live  a  conqueror,  too,  like  him, 
Till  Time's  expiring  light  grow  dim  ! 
0,  hero  of  my  boyish  heart ! 
Ere  from  thy  pictured  looks  I  part, 
My  mind's  maturer  reverence  now 
In  thoughts  of  thankfulness  would  bow 
To  the  Omniscient  will  that  sent 
Thee  forth,  its  chosen  instrument, 
To  teach  us  hope,  when  sin  and  care, 

And  the  vile  soilings  that  degrade 
Our  dust,  would  bid  us  most  despair — 

Hope,  from  each  varied  deed  displayed 
Along  thy  bold  and  wondrous  story, 

Thfit  shows  how  far  one  steadfast  mind, 
Serene  in  suffering  as  in  glory, 

May  go  to  deify  our  kind. 


ADDEESS   TO   THE    SUN. 

OSSIAIf. 

MY  soul  has  been  mournful  for  Carthon  :  he  fell  in  the  days  of  his 
youth;  and  thou,  0  Clessammor!  where  is  thy  dwelling  in  the  wind? 
Has  the  youth  forgot  his  wound  ?  Flies  he  on  clouds  with  thee  ?  I 
feel  the  sun,  0  Malvina !  leave  me  to  my  rest.  Perhaps  they  may 
come  to  my  dreams :  I  think  I  hear  a  feeble  voice  !  The  beam  of 
heaven  delights  to  shine  on  the  grave  of  Carthon:  I  feel  it  warm 
around. 

0  thou  that  rollest-  above,  round  as  the  shield  of  my  fathers ! 
Whence  are  thy  beams,  0  sun !  thy  everlasting  light !  Thou  comest 
forth  in  thy  awful  beauty ;  the  stars  hide  themselves  in  the  sky  ;  the 
moon,  cold  and  pale,  sinks  in  the  western  wave  ;  but  thou  thyself 
movest  alone.  Who  can  be  a  companion  of  thy  course  ?  The  oaks  of 
the  mountains  fall ;  the  mountains  themselves  decay  with  years ;  the 
ocean  shrinks  and  grows  again  ;  the  moon  herself  is  lost  in  heaven  : 
but  thou  art  for  ever  the  same,  rejoicing  in  the  brightness  of  thy  course. 
When  the  world  is  dark  with  tempests,  when  thunder  rolls  and  light- 
ning flies,  thou  lookest  in  thy  beauty  from  the  clouds,  and  laughest  at 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  383 

the  storm.  But  to  Ossian  thou  lookest  in  vain,  for  he  beholds  thy 
beams  no  more  :  whether  thy  yellow  hair  flows  on  the  eastern  clouds, 
or  thou  tremblest  at  the  gates  of  the  west.  But  thou  art,  perhaps, 
like  me,  for  a  season ;  thy  years  will  have  an  end.  Thou  shalt  sleep 
in  thy  clouds,  careless  of  the  voice  of  the  morning.  Exult  then,  0 
Sun,  in  the  strength  of  thy  youth !  age  is  dark  and  unlovely ;  it  is  like 
the  glimmering  light  of  the  moon,  when  it  shines  through  broken 
clouds,  and  the  mist  is  on  the  hills :  the  blast  of  the  north  is  on  the 
plain,  the  traveller  shrinks  in  the  midst  of  his  journey. 


THE   POWEE   OF    POETRY. 

HOLMES. 
IMMORTAL  Art !  where'er  the  rounded  sky 

Bends  o'er  the  cradle  where  thy  children  lie, 
Their  home  is  earth,  their  herald  every  tongue 
Whose  accents  echo  to  the  voice  that  sung. 
One  leap  of  Ocean  scatters  on  the  sand 
The  quarried  bulwarks  of  the  loosening  land ; 
One  thrill  of  earth  dissolves  a  century's  toil, 
Strewed  like  the  leaves  that  vanish  in  the  soil ; 
One  hill  overflows,  and  cities  sink  below, 
Their  marbles  splintering  in  the  lava's  glow ; 
But  one  sweet  tone,  scarce  whispered  to  the  air, 
From  shore  to  shore  the  blasts  of  ages  bear  ; 
One  humble  name,  which  oft,  perchance,  has  borne 
The  tyrant's  mockery  and  the  courtier's  scorn, 
Towers  o'er  the  dust  of  earth's  forgotten  graves, 
As  once,  emerging  through  the  waste  of  waves, 
The  rocky  Titan,  round  whose  shattered  spear 
Coiled  the  last  whirlpool  of  the  drowning  sphere! 


THE    SLEEP. 

MBS.  BROWNING. 

OF  all  the  thoughts  of  God  that  are 
Borne  inward  unto  souls  afar, 
Along  the  Psalmist's  music  deep, 
Now  tell  me  if  that  any  is, 
For  gift  or  grace,  surpassing  this — 
"  He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep  ?" 


384  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

What  would  we  give  to  our  beloved  ? 
The  hero's  heart,  to  be  unmoved, 
The  poet's  star-tuned  harp,  to  sweep, 
The  patriot's  voice,  to  teach  and  rouse, 
The  monarch's  crown,  to  light  the  brows  ?- 
"He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep." 

"What  do  we  give  to  our  beloved  ? 

A  little  faith,  all  undisproved, 

A  little  dust,  to  overweop, 

And  bitter  memories,  to  make 

The  whole  earth  blasted  for  our  sake. 

"He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep." 

"  Sleep  soft,  beloved  I"  we  sometimes  say, 

But  have  no  tune  to  charm  away 

Sad  dreams  that  through  the  eyelids  creep; 

But  never  doleful  dream  again 

Shall  break  the  happy  slumber,  when 

"  He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep." 

0  earth,  so  full  of  dreary  noises ! 
0  men,  with  wailing  in  your  voices  ! 
0  delved  gold,  the  wailers  heap  ! 

0  strife,  0  curse,  that  o'er  it  fall ! 
God  makes  a  silence  through  you  all, 
And  "  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep." 

His  dews  drop  mutely  on  the  hill, 
His  cloud  above  it  saileth  still, 
Though  on  its  slope  men  sow  and  reap. 
More  softly  than  the  dew  is  shed, 
Or  cloud  is  floated  overhead, 
"  He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep." 

Yea !  men  may  wonder  while  they  scan 
A  living,  thinking,  feeling  man, 
Confirmed,  in  such  a  rest  to  keep ; 
But  angels  say — and  through  the  word 

1  think  their  happy  smile  is  heard — 
"  He  giveth  his  beloved,  sleep." 

For  me,  my  heart  that  erst  did  go 
Most  like  a  tired  child  at  a  show, 


I 

RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  385 

That  sees  through  tears  the  jugglers  leap, — 
Would  now  its  wearied  vision  close, 
Would  childlike  on  His  love  repose, 
Who  "  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep  I" 

And,  friends,  dear  friends, — when  it  shall  be 
That  this  low  breath  is  gone  from  me, 
And  round  my  bier  ye  come  to  weep, 
Let  one,  most  loving  of  you  all, 
Say,  "  Not  a  tear  must  o'er  her  fall — 
He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep." 


THE   SERAPH  AND  POET. 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

THE  seraph  sings  before  the  manifest 
God-one,  and  in  the  burning  of  the  Seven, 
And  with  the  full  life  of  consummate  Heaven 
Heaving  beneath  him  like  a  mother's  breast 
Warm  with  her  first-born's  slumber  in  that  nest, 
The  poet  sings  upon  the  earth  grave-riven  ; 
Before  the  naughty  world  soon  self-forgiven 
For  wronging  him  ;  and  in  the  darkness  prest 
From  his  own  soul  by  worldly  weights.     Even  so, 
Sing,  seraph  with  the  glory !     Heaven  is  high — 
Sing,  poet  with  the  sorrow !     Earth  is  low. 
The  universe's  inward  voices  cry 
"  Amen  "  to  either  song  of  joy  and  woe — 
Sing  seraph, — poet, — sing  on  equally. 


MILTON  ON  HIS   BLINDNESS. 

ELIZABETH  LLOYD. 
I  AM  old  and  blind  ! 

Men  point  at  me  as  smitten  by  God's  frown : 
Afflicted  and  deserted  of  my  kind, 
Yet  am  I  not  cast  down. 

I  am  weak,  yet  strong : 
I  murmur  not,  that  I  no  longer  see  ; 
Poor,  old,  and  helpless,  I  the  more  belong,  , 

Father  Supreme !  to  Thee. 
33  2B 


386          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKSR. 

0  merciful  One ! 

When  men  are  farthest,  then  art  Thou  most  near  ; 
When  friends  pass  by,  my  weaknesses  to  shun, 
Thy  chariot  I  hear. 

Thy  glorious  face 

Is  leaning  toward  me,  and  its  holy  light 
Shines  in  upon  my  lonely  dwelling-place — 

And  there  is  no  more  night. 

On  bended  knee, 

I  recognise  Thy  purpose,  clearly  shown  ; 
My  vision  thou  hast  dimmed,  that  I  may  see 

Thyself,  Thyself  alone. 

1  have  naught  to  fear ; 

This  darkness  is  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing ; 
Beneath  it  I  am  almost  sacred — here 
Can  come  no  evil  thing. 

Oh !  I  seem  to  stand 

Trembling,  where  foot  of  mortal  ne'er  hath  been, 
Wrapped  in  the  radiance  from  Thy  sinless  land, 

Which  eye  hath  never  seen. 

Visions  come  and  go  ; 

Shapes  of  resplendent  beauty  round  me  throng  ; 
From  angel  lips  I  seem  to  hear  the  flow 

Of  soft  and  holy  song. 

It  is  nothing  now, 

When  heaven  is  opening  on  my  sightless  eyes, 
When  airs  from  Paradise  refresh  my  brow, 

The  earth  in  darkness  lies. 

In  a  purer  clime, 

My  being  fills  with  rapture — waves  of  thought 
Eoll  in  upon  my  spirit — strains  sublime 

Break  over  me  unsought. 

Give  me  now  my  lyre  ! 
I  feel  the  stirrings  of  a  gift  divine : 
Within  my  bosom  glows  unearthly  fire 

Lit  by  no  skill  of  mine. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  387 


THE   LIVE-OAK. 

H.  R.  JACKSON 
WITH  his  gnarled  old  arms,  and  his  iron  form, 

Majestic  in  the  wood, 
From  age  to  age,  in  the  sun  and  storm, 

The  live-oak  long  hath  stood  ; 
With  his  stately  air,  that  grave  old  tree, 

He  stands  like  a  hooded  monk, 
With  the  gray  moss  waving  solemnly 

From  his  shaggy  limbs  and  trunk. 

And  the  generations  come  and  go, 

And  still  he  stands  upright, 
And  he  sternly  looks  on  the  wood  below, 

As  conscious  of  his  might. 
But  a  mourner  sad  is  the  hoary  tree, 

A  mourner  sad  and  lone, 
And  is  clothed  in  funeral  drapery 

For  the  long  since  dead  and  gone. 

For  the  Indian  hunter  beneath  his  shade 

Has  rested  from  the  chase ; 
And  he  here  has  wooed  his  dusky  maid — 

The  dark-eyed  of  her  race  ; 
And  the  tree  is  red  with  the  gushing  gore 

As  the  wild  deer  panting  dies : 
But  the  maid  is  gone,  and  the  chase  is  o'er, 

And  the  old  oak  hoarsely  sighs. 

In  former  days,  when  the  battle's  din 

Was  loud  amid  the  land, 
In  his  friendly  shadow,  few  and  thin, 

Have  gathered  Freedom's  band  ; 
And  the  stern  old  oak,  how  proud  was  he 

To  shelter  hearts  so  brave  ! 
But  they  all  are  gone — the  bold  and  free — 

And  he  moans  above  their  grave. 

And  the  aged  oak,  with  his  locks  of  gray, 

Is  ripe  for  the  sacrifice ; 
For  the  worm  and  decay,  no  lingering  prey, 

Shall  he  tower  towards  the  skies  ! 
He  falls,  he  falls,  to  become  our  guard, 

The  bulwark  of  the  free, 


388          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

And  his  bosom  of  steel  is  proudly  bared 
To  brave  the  raging  sea  ! 

When  the  battle  comes,  and  the  cannon's  roar 

Booms  o'er  the  shuddering  deep, 
Then  nobly  he'll  bear  the  bold  hearts  o'er 

The  waves,  with  bounding  leap. 
Oh !  may  those  hearts  be  as  firm  and  true, 

When  the  war-clouds  gather  dun, 
As  the  glorious  oak  that  proudly  grew      * 

Beneath  our  southern  sun. 


THE   FAMINE. 

LONGFELLOW. 
0  THE  long  and  dreary  Winter  ! 

0  the  cold  and  cruel  Winter ! 
Ever  thicker,  thicker,  thicker 
Froze  the  ice  on  lake  and  river, 
Ever  deeper,  deeper,  deeper 
Fell  the  snow  o'er  all  the  landscape, 
Fell  the  covering  snow,  and  drifted 
Through  the  forest,  round  the  village. 

Hardly  from  his  buried  wigwam 
Could  the  hunter  force  a  passage  ; 
With  his  mittens  and  his  snow-shoes 
Vainly  walked  he  through  the  forest, 
Sought  for  bird  or  beast  and  found  none, 
Saw  no  track  of  deer  or  rabbit, 
In  the  snow  beheld  no  footprints, 
In  the  ghastly,,  gleaming  forest 
Fell,  and  could  not  rise  from  weakness, 
Perished  there  from  cold  and  hunger. 

0  the  famine  and  the  fever  ! 
0  the  wasting  of  the  famine  ! 
0  the  blasting  of  the  fever  ! 
0  the  wailing  of  the  children  ! 
0  the  anguish  of  the  women  ! 

All  the  earth  was  sick  and  famished ; 
Hungry  was  the  air  around  them, 
Hungry  was  the  sky  above  them, 
And  the  hungry  stars  in  heaven 
Like  the  eyes  of  wolves  glared  at  them  I 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  389 

Into  Hiawatha's  wigwam 
Came  two  other  guests,  as  silent 
As  the  ghosts  were,  and  as  gloomy, 
Waited  not  to  be  invited, 
Did  not  parley  at  the  doorway, 
Sat  there  without  word  of  welcome 
In  the  seat  of  Laughing  Water ; 
Looked  with  haggard  eyes  and  hollow 
At  the  face  of  Laughing  Water. 

And  the  foremost  said :  "  Behold  me  ! 
I  am  Famine,  Bukadawin  !" 
And  the  other  said :  "  Behold  me  1 
I  am  Fever,  Ahkosewin  !" 

And  the  lovely  jyiinnehaha 
Shuddered  as  they  looked  upon  her, 
Shuddered  at  the  words  they  uttered, 
Lay  down  on  her  bed  in  silence, 
Hid  her  face,  but  made  no  answer ; 
Lay  there  trembling,  freezing,  burning 
At  the  looks  they  cast  upon  her, 
At  the  fearful  words  they  uttered. 

Forth  into  the  empty  forest 
Rushed  the  maddened  Hiawatha ; 
In  his  heart  was  deadly  sorrow, 
In  his  face  a  stony  firmness ; 
On  his  brow  the  sweat  of  anguish 
Started,  but  it  froze  and  fell  not. 

Wrapped  in  furs  and  armed  for  hunting, 
With  his  mighty  bow  of  ash-tree, 
With  his  quiver  full  of  arrows, 
With  his  mittens,  Minjekahwun, 
Into  the  vast  and  vacant  forest 
On  his  snow-shoes  strode  he  forward. 

"Gitehe  Manito,  the  Mighty!" 
Cried  he  with  his  face  uplifted 
In  that  bitter  hour  of  anguish, 
"  Give  your  children  food,  0  father ! 
Give  us  food,  or  we  must  perish ! 
Give  me  food  for  Minnehaha, 

For  my  dying  Minnehaha  1" 

From  "  Hiawatha." 

33* 


290  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

HEAVEN'S  SUNRISE  TO  EARTHLY  BLINDNESS. 

MRS.  BROWNING. 
THE  world  waits 

For  help.     Beloved,  let  us  love  so  well, 
Our  work  shall  still  be  better  for  our  love, 
And  still  our  love  be  sweeter  for  our  work, 
And  both,  commended,  for  the  sake  of  each, 
By  all  true  workers  and  true  lovers,  born. 
Now  press  the  clarion  on  thy  woman's  lip 
(Love's  holy  kiss  shall  still  keep  consecrate) 
And  breathe  the  fine  keen  breath  along  the  brass, 
And  blow  all  class-walls  level  as  Jericho's 
Past  Jordan ;  crying  from  the  top  of  souls, 
To  souls,  that  they  assembly  on  earth's  flats 
To  get  them  to  some  purer  eminence 
Than  any  hitherto  beheld  for  clouds  ! 
What  height  we  know  not, — but  the  way  we  know, 
And  how  by  mounting  aye,  we  must  attain, 
And  so  climb  on.     It  is  the  hour  for  souls  ; 
That  bodies,  leavened  by  the  will  and  love, 
Be  lightened  to  redemption.     The  world's  old ; 
But  the  old  world  waits  the  hour  to  be  renewed : 
Toward  which,  new  hearts  in  individual  growth 
Must  quicken,  and  increase  to  multitude 
In  new  dynasties  of  the  race  of  men, — 
Developed  whence,  shall  grow  spontaneously 
New  churches,  new  oaconomies,  new  laws 
Admitting  freedom,  new  societies 
Excluding  falsehood.     He  shall  make  all  new. 
My  Romney ! — lifting  up  my  hand  in  his, 
As  wheeled  by  Seeing  spirits  towards  the  east, 
He  turned  instinctively, — where,  faint  and  fair, 
Along  the  tingling  desert  of  the  sky, 
Beyond  the  circle  of  the  conscious  hills, 
Were  laid  in  jasper-stone  as  clear  as  glass 
The  first  foundations  of  that  new,  near  Day 
Which  should  be  builded  out  of  heaven,  to  God. 
He  stood  a  moment  with  erected  brows, 
In  silence,  as  a  creature  might,  who  gazed : 
Stood  calm,  and  fed  his  blind,  majestic  eyes 
Upon  the  thought  of  perfect  noon.     And  when 
I  saw  his  soul  saw, — "  Jasper  first,"  I  said, 
"  And  second,  sapphire ;  third,  chalcedony ; 

The  rest  in  order,  .  .  last,  an  amethyst." 

From  "  Aurora  Leigh." 


NATIONAL  ODES  AND  BATTLE  PIECES. 


NATIONAL   SONGS. 

ANONYMOUS. 
SONGS  of  our  land,  ye  are  with  us  for  ever : 

The  power  and  the  splendor  of  thrones  pass  away ; 
But  yours  is  the  might  of  some  deep-rolling  river, 

Still  flowing  in  freshness  through  things  that  decay. 
Ye  treasure  the  voices  of  long-vanished  ages  ; 

Like  our  time-honored  towers,  in  beauty  ye  stand  ; 
Ye  bring  us  the  bright  thoughts  of  poets  and  sages, 

And  keep  them  among  us,  old  songs  of  our  land. 

The  bards  may  go  down  to  the  place  of  their  slumbers, 

The  lyre  of  the  charmer  be  hushed  in  the  grave ; 
But  far  in  the  future  the  power  of  their  numbers 

Shall  kindle  the  hearts  of  our  faithful  and  brave. 
It  will  waken  an  echo  in  souls  deep  and  lonely, 

Like  voices  of  reeds  by  the  winter  wind  fanned ; 
It  will  call  up  a  spirit  of  freedom,  when  only 

Her  breathings  are  heard  in  the  songs  of  our  land. 

For  they  keep  a  record  of  those,  the  true-hearted, 

Who  fell  with  the  cause  they  had  vowed  to  maintain ; 
They  show  us  bright  shadows  of  glory  departed, 

Of  love  unrewarded,  and  hope  that  was  vain  ; 
The  page  may  be  lost,  and  the  pen  long-forsaken, 

^.nd  weeds  may  grow  wild  o'er  the  brave  heart  and  hand ; 
But  ye  are  still  left  when  all  else  hath  been  taken, 

Like  streams  in  the  desert — sweet  songs  of  our  land ! 


THE   AMEKICAN   FLAG. 

JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE. 
WHEN  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 

Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 
She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 
And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 

(391) 


392          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 
The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 
And  striped  its  pure,  celestial  white, 
With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 
Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 
She  called  her  eagle  bearer  down, 
And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 
The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 

Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud, 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 
To  hear  the  tempest  trumpings  loud 
And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 

When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 
And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven, 
Child  of  the  sun  !  to  thee  'tis  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free, 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  ward  away  the  battle-stroke, 
And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar, 
Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 

The  harbingers  of  victory  I 

Flag  of  the  brave!  thy  folds  shall  fly, 

The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high, 
When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone, 

And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on. 
Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet, 

Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet, 
Each  soldier  eye  shall  brightly  turn 

To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn; 
And  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 
Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance. 
And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 

Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle-shroud, 
And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall; 

Then  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow, 
And  cowering  foes  shall  sink  beneath 

Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 
That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 

Flag  of  the  seas !  on  ocean  wave 

Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  393 

When  death,  careering  on  the  gale, 

Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail, 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back 

Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 

Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home ! 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given  ; 
The  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
For  ever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us  ? 


THE   STAB-SPANGLED  BANNER. 

FRANCIS  SCOTT  KEY. 
0!  SAY,  can  you  see,  by  the  dawn's  early  light, 

What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twilight's  last  gleaming; 
Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars,  through  the  perilous  fight, 

O'er  the  ramparts  we  watched,  were  so  gallantly  streaming? 
And  the  rockets'  red  glare,  the  bombs  bursting  in  air, 
Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  flag  was  still  there ; 
0 !  say,  does  that  star-spangled  banner  yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ? 

On  the  shore,  dimly  seen  through  the  mists  of  the  deep, 
Where  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread  silence  reposes, 
What  is  that  which  the  breeze  o'er  the  towering  steep 

As  it  fitfully  blows,  half-conceals,  half  discloses  ? 
Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's  first  beam ; 
Its  full  glory  reflected  now  shines  on  the  stream : 
'Tis  the  star-spangled  banner,  0 !  long  may  it  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

And  where  is  the  band  who  so  vauntingly  swore, 
'Mid  the  havoc  of  war  and  the  battle's  confusion, 

A  home  and  a  country  they'd  leave  us  no  more? 

Their  blood  hath  washed  out  their  foul  footsteps'  pollution ; 


394          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

No  refuge  could  save  the  hireling  and  slave 
From  the  terror  of  flight,  or  the  gloom  of  the  grave ; 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  doth  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

0  !  thus  be  it  ever,  when  freemen  shall  stand 

Between  our  loved  home  and  the  war's  desolation ; 
Bless'd  with  victory  and  peace,  may  the  heaven-rescued  land 

Praise  the  power  that  hath  made  and  preserved  us  a  nation  ! 
Then  conquer  we  must,  for  our  cause  it  is  just, 
And  this  be  our  motto,  "  In  GOD  is  our  trust ;" 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 


THE   CHAKGE   AT  WATEELOO. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

ON  came  the  whirlwind — like  the  last 
But  fiercest  sweep  of  tempest  blast ; 
On  came  the  whirlwind — steel-gleams  broke 
Like  lightning  through  the  rolling  smoke ; 

The  war  was  waked  anew. 
Three  hundred  cannon-mouths  roared  loud, 
And  from  their  throats,  with  flash  and  cloud, 

Their  showers  of  iron  threw. 
Beneath  their  fire,  in  full  career, 
Rushed  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier, 
The  lancej  couched  his  ruthless  spear, 
And,  hurrying  as  to  havoc  near, 

The  cohorts'  eagles  flew. 
In  one  dark  torrent,  broad  and  strong, 
The  advancing  onset  rolled  along, 
Forth  harbingered  by  fierce  acclaim, 
That  from  the  shroud  of  smoke  and  flame, 
Pealed  wildly  the  imperial  name. 
But  on  the  British  heart  were  lost 
The  terrors  of  the  charging  host ; 
For  not  an  eye  the  storm  that  viewed 
Changed  its  proud  glance  of  fortitude ; 
Nor  was  one  forward  footstep  stayed, 
As  dropped  the  dying  and  the  dead. 
Fast  as  their  ranks  the  thunders  tear, 
Fast  they  renewed  each  serried  square ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  395 

And  on  the  wounded  and  the  slain 

Closed  their  diminished  files  again  ; 

Till  from  their  lines  scarce  spears'  lengths  three, 

Emerging  from  the  smoke  they  see 

Helmet,  and  plume,  and  panoply — 

Then  waked  their  fire  at  once ! 
Each  musketeer's  revolving  knell 
As  fast,  as  regularly  fell, 
As  when  they  practise  to  display 
Their  discipline  on  festal  day. 

Then  down  went  helm  and  lance, 
Down  rent  the  eagle-banners  sent, 
Down  reeling  steeds  and  riders  went, 
Corselets  were  pierced,  and  pennons  rent ; 

And  to  augment  the  fray, 
Wheeled  full  against  their  staggering  flanks, 
The  English  horsemen's  foaming  ranks 

Forced  their  resistless  way : 
Then  to  the  musket  knell  succeeds 
The  clash  of  swords — the  neigh  of  steeds : 
As  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade, 
Against  the  cuirass  rang  the  blade ; 
And.  while  amid  their  close  array 
The  well-served  cannon  rent  their  way, 
And  while  amid  their  scattered  band 
Raged  the  fierce  rider's  bloody  brand, 
Recoiled  in  common  rout  and  fear 
Lancer,  and  guard,  and  cuirassier, 
Horsemen  and  foot, — a  mingled  host, 
Their  leaders  fallen,  their  standards  lost. 


THE    BATTLE   MARCH. 

GERALD  MASSBT, 
Now  glory  to  our  England, 

As  she  rises,  calm  and  grand, 
With  the  ancient  spirit  in  her  eyes, — 

The  good  Sword  in  her  hand ! 
Our  royal  right  on  battle-ground, 

Was  aye  to  bear  the  brunt : 
Ho !  brave  heart !  for  one  passionate  bound, 

And  take  thy  place  in  front ! 


396          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Now  glory  to  our  England, 
As  she  rises,,  calm  and  grand, 

With  the  ancient  spirit  in  her  eyes— 
The  good  Sword  in  her  hand  ! 


Who  would  not  fight  for  England? 

Who  would  not  fling  a  life 
P  the  ring,  to  meet  a  Tyrant's  gage, 

And  glory  in  the  strife  ? 
Her  stem  is  thorny,  but  doth  burst 

A  glorious  Rose  a-top ! 
And  shall  our  dear  Rose  wither  ?     First 

We'll  drain  life's  dearest  drop  ! 
Who  would  not  fight  for  England  ? 

Who  would  not  fling  a  life 
F  the  ring,  to  meet  a  Tyrant's  gage, 

And  glory  in  the  strife  ? 

To  battle  goes  our  England, 

All  as  gallant  and  as  gay 
As  Lover  to  the  Altar,  on 

A  merry  marriage-day. 
A  weary  night  she  stood  to  watch 

The  battle-dawn  up-rolled ; 
And  her  spirit  leaps  within,  to  match 

The  noble  deeds  of  old. 
To  battle  goes  our  England, 

All  as  gallant  and  as  gay 
As  Lover  to  the  Altar,  on 

A  merry  marriage-day. 

Now,  fair  befall  our  England, 

On  her  proud  and  perilous  road ; 
And  woe  and  wail  to  those  who  make 

Her  footprints  red  with  blood ! 
Up  with  our  red-cross  banner — roll 

A  thunder-peal  of  drums  ! 
Fight  on  there,  every  valiant  soul, 

And  courage  !  England  comes  ! 
Now,  fair  befall  our  England, 

On  her  proud  and  perilous  road  ; 
And  woe  and  wail  to  those  who  make 

Her  footprints  red  with  blood  ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  397 

Now,  victory  to  our  England  ! 

And  where'er  she  lifts  her  hand 
In  Freedom's  fight,  to  rescue  Right, 

God  bless  the  dear  old  land ! 
And  when  the  storm  has  passed  away, 

In  glory  and  in  calm, 
May  she  sit  down  i'  the  green  o'  the  day, 

And  sing  her  peaceful  psalm, 
Now,  victory  to  our  England ! 

And  where'er  she  lifts  her  hand 
In  Freedom's  fight,  to  rescue  Right, 

God  bless  the  dear  Old  Land ! 


LAISSEZ  ALLER! 

FKANKLIN  LUSHIHSTOII. 
No  more  words : 

Try  it  with  your  swords  ! 

Try  it  with  the  arms  of  your  bravest  and  your  best, 
You  are  proud  of  your  manhood,  now  put  it  to  the  test : 

Not  another  word : 

Try  it  by  the  sword. 

No  more  Notes : 

Try  it  by  the  throats. 

Of  the  cannon  that  will  roar  till  the  earth  and  air  be  shaken, 
For  they  speak  what  they  mean,  and  they  cannot  be  mistaken ; 

No  more  doubt : 

Come — fight  it  out. 

No  child's  play ! 

Waste  not  a  day : 

Serve  out  the  deadliest  weapons  that  you  know, 
Let  them  pitilessly  hail  in  the  faces  of  the  foe : 

No  blind  strife : 

Waste  not  one  life. 

You  that  in  the  front 

Bear  the  battle's  brunt — 

When  the  sun  gleams  at  dawn  on  the  bayonets  abreast, 
Think  of  England  still  asleep  beyond  the  curtain  of  the  west . 

For  love  of  all  you  guard, 

Stand,  and  strike  hard. 
34 


398  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

You  that  stay  at  home, 

Behind  the  wall  of  foam — 

Leave  not  a  jot  to  chance,  while  you  rest  in  quiet  ease : 
Quick !  forge  the  bolts  of  death ;  quick  !  ship  them  o'er  the  seas : 

If  War's  feet  are  lame, 

Yours  will  be  the  blame. 

You,  my  lads,  abroad, 

"Steady!"  be  your  word: 

You  at  home,  be  the  anchor  of  your  host  across  the  wave, 
Spare  no  cost,  none  is  lost,  that  may  strengthen  or  may  save : 

Sloth  were  sin  and  shame : 

Now,  play  out  the  game. 


MY   FATHERLAND. 

KOERNER. 
Where  is  the  minstrel' s  fatherland  ? 

Where  noble  spirits  beam  in  light, 
Where  love-wreaths  bloom  for  beauty  bright ; 
Where  noble  minds  enraptured  dream 
Of  every  high  and  hallowed  theme. 
This  was  the  minstrel's  fatherland. 

How  name  ye  the  minstrel's  fatherland  ? 
Now  o'er  the  corses  of  children  slain, 
She  weeps  a  foreign  tyrant's  reign  ; 
She  once  was  the  land  of  the  good  oak-tree, 
The  German  land — the  land  of  the  free. 
So  namecKwe  once  my  fatherland  ! 

Why  weeps  the  minstrel' s  fatherland  f 
She  weeps,  that  for  a  tyrant  still, 
Her  princes  check  their  people's  will ; 
That  her  sacred  words  unheeded  fly, 
And  that  none  will  list  to  her  vengeful  cry. 
Therefore  weeps  my  fatherland ! 

Whom  calls  the  minstrel' s  fatherland  f 
She  calls  upon  the  God  of  Heaven, 
In  a  voice  which  vengeance'-self  hath  given ; 
She  calls  on  a  free,  devoted  band ; 
She  calls  for  an  avenging  hand ; 
Thus  calls  the  minstrel's  fatherland ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  399 

What  will  she  do,  thy  fatherland  ? 

She  will  drive  her  tyrant  foes  away ; 
She  will  scare  the  blood-hound  from  his  prey ; 
She  will  bear  her  son  no  more  a  slave, 
Or  will  yield  him  at  least  a  freeman's  grave ; 
Thus  will  she  do,  my  fatherland ! 

And  what  are  the  hopes  of  thy  fatherland? 
She  hopes  at  length  for  a  glorious  prize ; 
She  hopes  her  people  will  arise  ; 
She  hopes  in  the  great  award  of  Heaven, 
And  she  sees,  at  length,  an  avenger  given ; 
And  these  are  the  hopes  of  my  fatherland  I 


THE    GOOD  NEWS   FROM   GHENT  TO  AIX. 

ROBERT  BROWNINQ. 

I  SPRANG  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris,  and  he ; 
I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three ; 
"Good  speed  !"  cried  the  watch,  as  the  gate-bolts  undrew; 
"  Speed  \"  echoed  the  wall  to  us  galloping  through ; 
Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to  rest, 
And  into  the  midnight  we  galloped  abreast. 

Not  a  word  to  each  other ;  we  kept  the  great  pace 
Neck  by  neck,  stride  for  stride,  never  changing  our  place ; 
I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight, 
Then  shortened  each  stirrup,  and  set  the  pique  right, 
Rebuckled  the  cheek-strap,  chained  slacker  the  bit, — 
Nor  galloped  less  steadily  Roland,  a  whit. 

;T  was  moonset  at  starting ;  but  while  we  drew  near 

Lokeren,  the  cocks  crew  and  twilight  dawned  clear ; 

At  Boom,  a  great  yellow  star  came  out  to  see ; 

At  Dliffeld,  ;t  was  morning  as  plain  as  could  be  ; 

And  from  Mecheln  church-steeple  we  heard  the  half-chime, 

So  Joris  broke  silence  with,  "  Yet  there  is  time  \" 

At  Aerschot,  up  leaped  of  a  sudden  the  sun, 
And  against  him  the  cattle  stood  black  every  one, 
To  stare  through  the  mist  at  us  galloping  past, 
And  I  saw  my  stout  galloper  Roland,  at  last, 
With  resolute  shoulders,  each  butting  away 
The  haze,  as  some  bluff  river  headland  its  spray. 

And  his  low  head  and  crest,  just  one  sharp  ear  bent  back 
For  my  voice,  and  the  other  pricked  out  on  his  track  ; 


400          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

And  one  eye's  black  intelligence, — ever  that  glance 
O'er  its  white  edge  at  me,  his  own  master,  askance, 
And  the  thick  heavy  spume-flakes  which  aye  and  anon 
His  fierce  lips  shook  upwards  in  galloping  on. 

By  Hasselt,  Dirck  groaned ;  and  cried  Joris,  "  Stay  spur  ! 

Your  Roos  galloped  bravely,  the  fault 's  not  in  her, 

"We  ;11  remember  at  Aix  " — for  one  heard  the  quick  wheeze 

Of  her  chest,  saw  the  stretched  neck  and  staggering  knees, 

And  sunk  tail,  and  horrible  heave  of  the  flank, 

As  down  on  her  haunches  she  shuddered  and  sank. 

So  we  were  left  galloping,  Joris  and  I, 
Past  Looz  and  past  Tongr6s,  no  cloud  in  the  sky ; 
The  broad  sun  above  laughed  a  pitiless  laugh, 
'Neath  our  feet  broke  the  brittle  bright  stubble  like  chaff 
•  Till  over  by  Dalhem  a  dome-spire  sprang  white, 
And  "  Gallop,"  gasped  Joris,  "  for  Aix  is  in  sight !" 

" How  they'll  greet  us  !" — and  all  in  a  moment  his  roan 
Rolled  neck  and  croup  over,  lay  dead  as  a  stone ; 
And  there  was  my  Roland  to  bear  the  whole  weight 
Of  the  news  which  alone  could  save  Aix  from  her  fate, 
With  his  nostrils  like  pits  full  of  blood  to  the  brim, 
And  with  circles  of  red  for  his  eye-sockets'  rim. 

Then  I  cast  loose  my  buffcoat,  each  holster  let  fall, 

Shook  off  both  my  jack-boots,  let  go  belt  and  all, 

Stood  up  in  the  stirrup,  leaned,  patted  his  ear, 

Called  my  Roland  his  pet-name,  my  horse  without  peer ; 

Clapped  my  hands,  laughed  and  sang,  any  noise,  bad  or  good, 

Till  at  length  into  Aix  Roland  galloped  and  stood. 

And  all  I  remember  is,  friends  flocking  round, 

As  I  sate  with  his  head  'twixt  my  knees  on  the  ground, 

And  no  voice  but  was  praising  this  Roland  of  mine, 

As  I  poured  down  his  throat  our  last  measure  of  wine. 

Which  (the  burgesses  voted  by  common  consent) 

Was  no  more  than  his  due  who  brought  good  news  from  Ghent. 


THE   HAPPY  WABKIOK. 

WORDSWORTH. 
WHO,  doomed  to  go  in  company  with  Pain 

And  Fear  and  Bloodshed, — melancholy  train, — 
Turns  his  necessity  to  glorious  gain : 
More  skilful  in  self-knowledge,  even  more  pure, 
As  tempted  more ;  more  able  to  endure 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  401 

As  more  exposed  to  suffering  and  distress, 

Thence  also  more  alive  to  tenderness ; 

But  who,  if  he  be  called  upon  to  face 

Some  awful  moment  to  which  Heaven  has  joined 

Great  issues,  good  or  bad  for  human  kind, 

Is  happy  as  a  lover,  and  attired 

"With  sudden  brightness  as  a  man  inspired, 

And  through  the  heat  of  conflict  keeps  the  law 

In  calmness  made,  and  sees  what  he  foresaw. 

He  who,  though  thus  endued  as  with  a  sense 

And  faculty  for  storm  and  turbulence, 

Is  yet  a  soul  whose  master  bias  leans 

To  homefelt  pleasures  and  to  gentle  scenes^ 

Who,  while  the  mortal  mist  is  gathering,  draws 

His  breath  in  confidence  of  Heaven's  applause. 

This  is  the  Happy  Warrior :  this  is  he 

Whom  every  man  in  arms  should  wish  to  be. 


THE  GERMAN'S  NATIVE  LAND. 

UHLAND. 
KNOW  ye  the  land  where,  tall  and  green, 

The  ancient  forest-oaks  are  seen  ? 

Where  the  old  Rhine-waves  sounding  run  ? 

And  glitter  gayly  in  the  sun. 

We  know  the  lovely  land  full  well : 

'Tis  where  the  free-souled  Germans  dwell. 

Know  ye  the  land  where  truth  is  told, 

Where  the  word  of  man  is  as  good  as  gold? 

The  honest  land,  where  love  and  truth 

Bloom  on  in  everlasting  youth  ? 

I  know  that  honest  land  full  well : 

'Tis  where  the  free-souled  Germans  dwell. 

Know  ye  the  land  where  each  vile  song 
Is  banished  from  the  jovial  throng  ? 
The  sacred  land,  where,  free  from  art, 
Religion  sways  the  simple  heart  ? 
We  know  that  sacred  land  full  well : 
'Tis  where  the  free-souled  Germans  dwell. 
34*  2G 


402  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

GUSTAVUS'S  BATTLE   SONG. 

ALTENBURO. 

Sung  by  the  whole  Swedish  army  before  the  battle  of  Liitzen,  at  which 
Gustavus  Adolphus  fell. 

FEAR  not,  0  little  flock,  the  foe,          * 
Who  madly  seeks  your  overthrow, 

Dread  not  his  rage  and  power  ; 
What  though  your  courage  sometimes  faints, 
His  seeming  triumph  o'er  God's  saints 

Lasts  but  a  little  hour. 

Be  of  good  cheer, — your  cause  belongs 
To  Him  who  can  avenge  your  wrongs, 

Leave  it  to  Him,  our  Lord. 
Though  hidden  yet  from  all  our  eyes, 
He  sees  the  Gideon  who  shall  rise 

To  save  us,  and  his  word. 

As  true  as  God's  own  word  is  true, 
Nor  earth,  nor  hell,  with  all  their  crew, 

Against  us  shall  prevail, — 
A  jest  and  byword  are  they  grown ; 
"  God  is  with  us,"*  we  are  His  own, 

Our  victory  cannot  fail. 

Amen,  Lord  Jesus,  grant  our  prayer  1 
Great  Captain,  now  Thine  arm  make  bare 

Fight  for  us  once  again  ! 
So  shall  Thy  saints  and  martyrs  raise 
A  mighty  chorus  to  Thy  praise, 

World  without  end.     Amen. 


THE   SONG   OF  THE   SEA-KING. 

FROM  THE  SCANDINAVIAN. 
HARK  !   the  storm-fiend  of  the  deep 
Wakes  on  old  Heimdallar's  steep, 
Yelling  out  his  mountain  glee, 
Like  a  soul  in  agony. 
Rouse  thee,  then,  my  bark,  to  go 
Through  the  night,  and  the  billowy  ocean-snow ; 

*  The  watchword  of  the  evangelical  army  on  this  occasion. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  403 

Strong  thy  bones  and  huge  thy  form, 
Trarapler  of  the  howling  storm — 

Horse  of  ocean ! 

Glorious  is  the  eagle's  eye  ! 

He  gazes  afar  o'er  earth  and  sky ! 

He  screams  from  the  storm-cloud's  misty  womb, 

He  swells  his  pride  in  the  ocean-gloom  ! 

Thine,  my  bark,  is  keener  sight, 

Broader  wing,  and  longer  flight; 

Freer  thou,  my  bark,  to  roam — 

Ocean's  thine,  thy  boundless  home, 

Tempest  eagle ! 

As  a  warrior  in  his  might, 
Bears  him  in  the  wave  of  fight, 
Quell  the  waves  that  round  thee  dash, 
Round  thy  breast  with  thundering  crash  • 
Though  their  frown  be  black  as  night, 
Though  their  foamy  plume  be  bright, 
Quell  them,  though  their  stroke  be  strong, 
Though  their  shout  be  loud  and  long, 

Warrior  of  storms  1 


YE   MARINERS   OF   ENGLAND. 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 
YE  mariners  of  England ! 
That  guard  our  native  seas  ; 
Whose  flag  has  braved  a  thousand  years 

The  battle  and  the  breeze ! 
Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 
To  match  another  foe  ! 
And  sweep  through  the  deep, 
While  the  stormy  tempests  blow ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  tempests  blow. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 

Shall  start  from  every  wave  ! 
For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 

And  ocean  was  their  grave  ; 
Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell, 

Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 


404          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep, 
While  the  stormy  tempests  blow ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  tempests  blow. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwark, 

No  towers  along  the  steep  ; 
Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain-waves, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 
With  thunders  from  her  native  oak 

She  quells  the  floods  below, 
As  they  roar  on  the  shore, 
When  the  stormy  tempests  blow ; 
When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  tempests  blow. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn  ; 
Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 
Then,  then,  ye  ocean  warriors ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 
To  the  fame  of  your  name, 
When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow ; 
When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more, 
And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow  ! 


BATTLE   OF   THE   BALTIC. 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 
Or  Nelson  and  the  north 

Sing  the  glorious  day's  renown, 
When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 

All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown, 
And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proudly  shone ; 
By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand, 
In  a  bold  determined  hand, 
And  the  prince  of  all  the  land 
Led  them  on. 

Like  leviathans  afloat 

Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine ; 
While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 

On  the  lofty  British  line : 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  405 

It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime, 
As  they  drifted  on  their  path, 
There  was  silence  deep  as  death, 
And  the  boldest  held  his  breath 
For  a  time. 

But  the  might  of  England  flushed 

To  anticipate  the  scene, 
And  her  van  the  fleeter  rushed 

O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 
"Hearts  of  oak!"  our  captains  cried;  when  each  gun 
From  its  adamantine  lips 
Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships, 
Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 
Of  the  sun. 

Again  !  again  !  again  ! 

And  the  havoc  did  not  slack 
Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 

To  our  cheering  sent  us  back: 
Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom : 
Then  ceased  and  all  is  wail, 
As  they  strike  the  shattered  sail ; 
Or,  in  conflagration  pale, 
Light  the  gloom. 

Outspake  the  victor  then, 

As  he  hailed  them  o'er  the  wave : 
"  Ye  are  brothers,  ye  are  men  ! 
And  we  conquer  but  to  save  ; 
So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring. 
But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet, 
With  the  crews  at  England's  feet, 
And  make  submission  meet 
To  our  king." 

Then  Denmark  blessed  our  chief 

That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose ; 
And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 
From  her  people  wildly  rose; 
As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  day, 
While  the  sun  looked  smiling  bright 
O'er  a  wide  and  woful  sight, 
Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 
Died  away. 


406          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Now  joy  Old  England  raise ! 

For  the  tidings  of  thy  might 
By  the  festal  cities'  blaze, 

While  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light ; 
And  yet  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar, 
Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep 
Full  many  a  fathom  deep 
By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore ! 

Brave  hearts  !  to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 
On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died 
"With  the  gallant  good  Riou : 
Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  heaven  o'er  their  grave ! 
While  the  billow  mournful  rolls, 
And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles, 
Singing  glory  to  the  souls 
Of  the  brave ! 


WAR   SONG  OF  THE  EOT AL   EDINBURGH  LIGHT  DRAGOONS. 
Written  during  the  apprehension  of  an  invasion  by  the  French. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
To  horse !  to  horse !  .the  standard  flies, 

The  bugles  sound  the  call ; 
The  Gallic  navy  stems  the  seas, 
The  voice  of  battle's  on  the  breeze, 

Arouse  ye,  one  and  all ! 

From  high  Dunedin's  towers  we  come, 

A  band  of  brothers  true  ; 
Our  casques  the  leopard's  spoils  surround, 
With  Scotland's  hardy  thistle  crowned ; 

We  boast  the  red  and  blue. 

Though  tamely  couched  to  Gallia's  frown 

Dull  Holland's  tardy  train  ; 
Their  ravished  toys  though  Romans  mourn; 
Though  gallant  Switzers  vainly  spurn, 

And,  foaming,  gnaw  the  chain  ; 

Oh !  had  they  marked  the  avenging  call 
Their  brethren's  murder  gave, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  407 

Disunion  ne'er  their  ranks  hud  mown, 
Nor  patriot  valor,  desperate  grown, 
Sought  freedom  in  the  grave  ! 

Shall  we,  too,  bend  the  stubborn  head, 

In  Freedom's  temple  born, 
.Dress  our  pale  cheek  in  timid  smile, 
To  hail  a  master  in  our  isle, 

Or  brook  a  victor's  scorn  ? 

No  !  though  destruction  o'er  the  land 

Come  pouring  as  a  flood, 
The  sun  that  sees  our  falling  day, 
Shall  mark  our  sabre's  deadly  sway, 

And  set  that  night  in  blood. 

Then  farewell  home !  and  farewell  friends  1 

Adieu  each  tender  tie ! 
Resolved,  we  mingle  in  the  tide, 
Where  charging  squadrons  furious  ride, 

To  conquer  or  to  die. 

To  horse !  to  horse  !  the  sabres  gleam  ; 

High  sounds  our  bugle-call ; 
Combined  by  honor's  sacred  tie, 
Our  word  is  Laws  and  Liberty  ! 

March  forward  one  and  all ! 


THE   CHARGE   OF  THE   LIGHT  BRIGADE. 

ALFRED  TENNYSOM; 
HALF  a  league,  half  a  league, 

Half  a  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"Charge!''  was  the  captain's  cry; 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die, 
Into  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 
Volleyed  and  thundered ; 


408          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well ; 
Into  the  jaws  of  death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  hell, 
Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flashed  all  at  once  in  air, 
Sabring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wondered : 
Plunged  in  the  battery  smoke, 
Fiercely  the  line  they  broke  ; 
Strong  was  the  sabre-stroke : 
Making  an  army  reel 

Shaken  and  sundered. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not, 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volleyed  and  thundered ; 
Stormed  with  shot  and  shell, 
They  that  had  struck  so  well 
Rode  through  the  jaws  of  death, 
'Half  a  league  back  again, 
Up  from  the  mouth  of  hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 

Honor  the  brave  and  bold  1 
Long  shall  the  tale  be  told, 
Yea,  when  our  babes  are  old — 
How  they  rode  onward. 


SOLDIER,  WAKE!  THE  DAY  is  PEEPING. 

SIB  WALTER  SCOTT. 

SOLDIER,  wake  !  the  day  is  peeping, 
Honor  ne'er  was  won  in  sleeping ; 
Never  when  the  sunbeams  still 
Lay  unreflected  on  the  hill. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  409 

'Tis  when  they  are  glinted  back, 
From  axe  and  armor,  spear  and  jack, 
That  they  promise  future  story, 
Many  a  page  of  deathless  glory : 
Shields  that  are  the  foeman's  terror, 
Ever  are  the  morning's  mirror. 

Arm,  and  up  !  the  morning  beam 
Hath  called  the  rustic  to  his  team, 
Hath  called  the  falc'ner  to  the  lake, 
Hath  called  the  huntsman  to  the  brake. 
The  early  student  ponders  o'er 
The  dusty  tomes  of  ancient  lore. 
Soldier,  wake  !  thy  harvest  fame  ; 
Thy  study  conquest ;  war  thy  game. 
Shield  that  should  be  a  foeman's  terror, 
Still  should  gleam  the  morning's  mirror. 

Poor  hire  repays  the  rustic's  pain, 

More  paltry  still  the  sportsman's  gain, 

Vainest  of  all,  the  student's  theme 

Ends  in  some  metaphysic  dream  ; 

Yet  each  is  up,  and  each  has  toiled, 

Since  first  the  peep  of  dawn  has  smiled, 

And  each  is  eagerer  in  his  aim, 

Than  he  who  barters  life  for  fame. 

Up,  up,  and  arm  thee,  son  of  terror, 

Be  thy  bright  shield  the  morning's  mirror  1 


THEEE  CAME   FEOM  THE  WARS  ON  A  JET-BLACK  STEED. 

ANONYMOUS. 
THERE  came  from  the  wars  on  a  jet-black  steed 

A  knight  with  a  snowy  plume : 
He  flew  o'er  the  heath  like  a  captive,  freed 
From  a  dungeon's  dreary  gloom. 

And  gayly  he  rode  to  his  lordly  home, 

But  the  towers  were  dark  and  dim, 
And  he  heard  no  reply  when  he  called  for  some 

Who  were  dearer  than  life  to  him. 

35 


410  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

The  gate  which  was  hurled  from  its  ancient  place, 
Lay  mouldering  on  the  bare  ground, 

And  the  knight  rushed  in,  but  saw  not  a  trace 
Of  a  friend,  as  he  gazed  around. 

He  flew  to  the  grove  where  his  mistress  late 
Had  charmed  him  with  love's  sweet  tone  ; 

But  'twas  desolate  now,  and  the  strings  were  mute, 
And  she  he  adored  was  gone. 

The  wreaths  were  all  dead  in  Rosalie's  bower, 

And  Rosalie's  dove  was  lost ; 
And  the  winter's  wind  had  withered  each  flower 

On  the  myrtle  she  valued  most. 

But  a  cypress  grew  where  the  myrtle's  bloom 

Once  scented  the  morning  air ; 
And  under  its  shade  was  a  marble  tomb, 

And  Rosalie's  home  was  there  1 


THE  NOKMAN   BATTLE-SONG. 

THE  exclamation,  "  Aux  fils  des  Preux !"  was  used  to  encourage  young 
knights  to  emulate  the  glories  of  their  ancestors,  and  to  do  nothing  unworthy 
the  noble  title  given  them.  In  many  instances  it  was  attended  with  the  most 
animating  consequences. — See  Monstrelet's  Chronicles. 

Aux  fils  des  preux !  ye  sons  of  fame  ! 

Think  of  your  fathers'  ashes  now ; 
Fight !  for  the  honor  of  your  name  ; 

Fight !  for  your  valiant  sires  laid  low  1 

Aux  fils  des  preux !  red  be  your  swords 

With  many  a  crimson  battle-stain  ! 
Fight  on  !  ye  noble  knights  and  lords, 

Stay  not  to  count  the  warlike  slain ! 

Aux  fils  des  preux !  from  many  a  heart 

The  silent  prayer  now  is  breathing, 
Who  with  fond  hopes  saw  ye  depart ; 

Fair  hands  the  victor's  crown  are  wreathing ! 

Aux  fils  des  preux  !  On  !  soldiers  on  ! 

Your  blades  are  keen,  your  courage  strong ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  4H 

Soon  shall  the  conqueror's  meed  be  won, 
And  triumph  swell  our  battle-song ! 
"  Aux  fils  des  preux  I" 


THE   BATTLE   OF   IVRY. 

LORD  MACAULAY. 

Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  from  whom  all  glories  are ! 
And  glory  to  our  sovereign  liege,  King  Henry  of  Navarre ! 
Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music  and  of  dance, 
Through  thy  corn-fields  green  and  sunny  vines,  0  pleasant  land  of 

France  ! 

And  thou,  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city  of  the  waters, 
Again  let  rapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy  mourning  daughters. 
As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  joyous  in  our  joy, . 
For  cold  and  stiff  and  still  are  they  who  wrought  thy  walls  annoy. 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  a  single  field  hath  turned  the  chance  of  war ; 
Hurrah !  hurrah  !  for  Ivry,  and  King  Henry  of  Navarre  ! 

Oh,  how  our  hearts  were  beating,  when,  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in  long  array  ; 
With  all  its  priest-led  citizens,  and  all  its  rebel  peers, 
And  AppenzePs  stout  infantry,  and  Egmont's  Flemish  spears. 
There  rode  the  brood  of  false  Lorraine,  the  curses  of  our  land ! 
And  dark  Mayenne  was  in  the  midst,  a  truncheon  in  his  hand ; 
And,  as  we  looked  on  them,  we  thought  of  Seine's  empurpled  flood, 
And  good  Coligni's  hoary  hair  all  dabbled  with  his  blood  ; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God,  who  rules  the  fate  of  war, 
To  fight  for  His  own  holy  name,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 

The  King  is  come  to  marshal  us,  in  all  his  armor  drest ; 

And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon  his  gallant  crest. 

He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  his  eye ; 

He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  his  glance  was  stern  and  high. 

Right  graciously  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled  from  wing  to  wing, 

Down  all  our  line,  a  deafening  shout,  "God  save  our  lord  the  King!" 

"  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall,  as  fall  full  well  he  may — 

For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray — 

Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine  amidst  the  ranks  of  war, 

And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

Hurrah  !  the  foes  are  moving !  hark  to  the  mingled  din 
Of  fife  and  steed,  and  trump  and  drum,  and  roaring  culverin  i 
The  fiery  Duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint  Andre's  plain, 
With  all  the  hireling  chivalry  of  Gueldres  and  Almayne. 


412  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Now,  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of  France, 
Charge  for  the  golden  lilies  now — upon  them  with  the  lance ! 
A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears  in  rest ; 
A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  the  snow-white  crest ; 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a  guiding  star, 
Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of  Navarre. 

Now,  God  be  praised,  the  day  is  ours !  Mayenne  hath  turned  his  rein 
D'Aumale  hath  cried  for  quarter.     The  Flemish  Count  is  slain. 
Their  ranks  are  breaking  like  thin  clouds  before  a  Biscay  gale ; 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and  flags,  and  cloven  mail. 
And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and  all  along  our  van, 
"  Remember  Saint  Bartholomew  !"  was  passed  from  man  to  man ; 
But  out  spake  gentle  Henry,  "  No  Frenchman  is  my  foe  ; 
Down,  down,  with  every  foreigner ;  but  let  your  brethren  go  I" 
Oh !  was  there  ever  such  a  knight  in  friendship  or  in  war, 
As  our  sovereign  lord  King  Henry,  the  soldier  of  Navarre  ! 

Ho  !  maidens  of  Vienna  ;  ho  !  matrons  of  Lucerne  ! 

Weep,  weep,  and  rend  your  hair  for  those  who  never  shall  return. 

Ho !  Philip,  send,  for  charity,  thy  Mexican  pistoles, 

That  Antwerp  monks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy  poor  spearmen's  souls ! 

Ho !  gallant  nobles  of  the  League,  look  that  your  arms  be  bright ! 

Ho  !  burghers  of  Saint  Genevieve,  keep  watch  and  ward  to-night ! 

For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our  God  hath  raised  the  slave, 

And  mocked  the  counsel  of  the  wise,  and  the  valor  of  the  brave. 

Then  glory  to  His  holy  name,  from  whom  all  glories  are ; 

And  glory  to  our  sovereign  lord,  King  Henry  of  Navarre ! 


MAGIYAK   HUSSAK   SONG. 

•      GABRIEL  DOBRENTCI. 

MOTHER,  dost  weep  that  thy  boy's  right  hand 
Hath  taken  a  sword  for  his  fatherland  ? 
Mother,  where  should  the  brave  one  be 
But  in  the  ranks  of  bravery  ? 

Mother,  and  was  it  not  sad  to  leave 
Mine  own  sweet  maiden  alone  to  grieve  ? 
Maiden !  where  should  the  brave  one  be 
But  in  the  ranks  of  bravery  ? 

Mother  !  if  thou  in  death  wert  laid  ; 
Maiden  !  if  thou  wert  a  treacherous  maid ; 


KECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  413 

0  then  it  were  well  that 'the  brave  should  be 
In  the  front  ranks  of  bravery ! 

Mother  !  the  thought  brings  heavy  tears, 
And  I  look  round  on  my  youth's  compeers  ; 
They  have  their  griefs  and  loves  like  me, 
Touching  the  brave  in  their  bravery. 

Mother !  my  guardian  !  0  be  still ! 
Maiden  !  let  hope  thy  bosom  fill ; 
King  and  country  !  how  sweet  to  be 
Battling  for  both  in  bravery  ! 

Bravery !  ay,  and  victory's  hand 
Shall  wreath  my  cap  with  golden  band ; 
And  in  the  camp  the  shout  shall  be, 
Oh !  how  he  fought  for  liberty^ 


SONG   OF   THE   GKEEKS. 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 

AGAIN  to  the  battle,  Achaians ! 

Our  hearts  bid  the  tyrants  defiance  ; 

Our  land,  the  first  garden  of  Liberty's  tree — 

It  has  been,  and  yet  shall  be  the  land  of  the  free : 

For  the  cross  of  our  faith  is  replanted, 

The  pale  dying  crescent  is  daunted, 

And  we  march  that  the  footprints  of  Mahomet's  slaves 

May  be  washed  out  in  blood  from  our  forefathers'  graves. 

Their  spirits  are  hovering  o'er  us, 

And  the  sword  shall  to  glory  restore  us. 

Ah  1  what  though  no  succor  advances, 

Nor  Christendom's  chivalrous  lances 

Are  stretched  in  our  aid — be  the  combat  our  own  ! 

And  we'll  perish  or  conquer  more  proudly  alone ; 

For  we've  sworn  by  our  country's  assaulters, 

By  the  virgins  they've  dragged  from  our  altars, 

By  our  massacred  patriots,  our  children  in  chains, 

By  our  heroes  of  old,  and  their  blood  in  our  veins, 

That  living  we  shall  be  victorious, 

Or  that  dying  our  deaths  shall  be  glorious. 

A  breath  of  submission  we  breathe  not ; 
The  sword  that  we've  drawn  we  will  sheath  not ! 
35* 


414  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Its  scabbard  is  left  where  our  martyrs  are  laid, 
And  the  vengeance  of  ages  has  whetted  its  blade. 
Earth  may  hide — waves  engulf — fire  consume  us, 
But  they  shall  not  to  slavery  doom  us : 
If  they  rule,  it  shall  be  o'er  our  ashes  and  graves : 
But  we've  smote  them  already  with  fire  on  the  waves, 
And  new  triumphs  on  land  are  before  us ; 
To  the  charge ! — Heaven's  banner  is  o'er  us. 

This  day  shall  ye  blush  for  its  story, 

Or  brighten  your  lives  with  its  glory. 

Our  women,  oh,  say,  shall  they  shriek  in  despair, 

Or  embrace  us  from  conquest  with  wreaths  in  their  hair? 

Accursed  may  his  memory  blacken, 

If  a  coward  there  be  that  would  slacken, 

Till  we  trampled  the  turban,  and  shown  ourselves  worth 

Being  sprung  from  and  named  for  the  god-like  of  earth. 

Strike  home,  and  the  world  shall  revere  us 

As  heroes  descended  from  heroes. 

Old  Greece  lightens  up  with  emotion 

Her  islands,  her  isles  of  the  ocean ; 

Fanes  rebuilt  and  fair  towers  shall  with  jubilee  ring, 

And  the  Nine  shall  new-hallow  their  Helicon's  spring : 

Our  hearths  shall  be  kindled  in  gladness, 

That  were  cold  and  extinguished  in  sadness ; 

Whilst  our  maidens  shall  dance  with  their  white-waving  arms, 

Singing  joy  to  the  brave  that  delivered  their  charms, 

When  the  blood  of  yon  Mussulman  cravens 

Shall  have  purpled  the  beaks  of  our  ravens. 


WAR  SONG  OF  THE   GKEEKS. 

BARRY  CORNWALL. 
AWAKE  !  'tis  the  terror  of  war ; 

The  Crescent  is  tossed  on  the  wind  ; 
But  our  flag  flies  on  high,  like  the  perilous  star 

Of  the  battle.     Before  and  behind, 
Wherever  it  glitters,  it  darts 
Bright  death  into  tyrannous  hearts. 

Who  are  they  that  now  bid  us  be  slaves  ? 
They  are  foes  to  the  good  and  the  free : 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  415 

Go  bid  them  first  fetter  the  might  of  the  waves  ; 

The  sea  may  be  conquered, — but  we 
Have  spirits  untaineable  still, 
And  the  strength  to  be  free, — and  the  will. 

The  Helots  are  come :  In  their  eyes 

Proud  hate  and  fierce  massacre  burn, 
They  hate  us, — but  shall  they  despise? 

They  are  come  ;  shall  they  ever  return  ? 
0  God  of  the  Greeks  !  from  thy  throne 
Look  down,  and  we'll  conquer  alone. 

Our  fathers, — each  man  was  a  god, 

His  will  w^as  a  law,  and  the  sound 
Of  his  voice,  like  a  spirit's,  was  worshipped :  he  trode, 

And  thousands  fell  worshippers  round : 
From  the  gates  of  the  West  to  the  Sun 
He  bade,  and  his  bidding  was  done. 

And  we — shall  we  die  in  our  chains, 

Who  once  were  as  free  as  the  wind  ? 
Who  is  it  that  threatens, — who  is  it  arraigns? 

Are  they  princes  of  Europe  or  Ind  ? 
Are  they  kings  to  the  uttermost  pole? 
They  are  dogs,  with  a  taint  on  their  soul. 


MOORISH  SONG:  ABDALLAH'S  BATTLE-CALL. 

ANONYMOUS. 
BRING  me  my  gleaming  scimitar, 

My  corselet  of  bright  steel ! 
I  hear  the  welcome  shout  of  war, 

"  Defiance  to  Castile  !" 
By  Muza's  conquering  sword  led  on, 
Soon  shall  the  glorious  strife  be  won  ! 

Through  serried  ranks  of  lances  fierce, 

Marshalled  in  dread  array, 
Our  Moorish  falchions  soon  shall  pierce, 

And  piles  of  victims  slay  ! 
Bring  me  my  gleaming  scimitar, 
My  soul  is  panting  for  the  war  1 

With  arching  neck  and  kindling  eye, 
My  fiery  Arab  stands  ; 


416          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

What  joy  !  in  fleet  career  to  fly, 

And  strike  the  invading  bands ! 
Proud  Ferdinand !  thy  heart  shall  quail 
Beneath  our  storm  of  arrowy  hail. 

Legions  of  Moslem  chivalry 
Line  Douro's  river  side, 

Fleet  barbs  in  battle  panoply 
Are  prancing  in  their  pride  ! 

The  shrill  tambour  and  clarion's  sound, 

O'er  the  Sierra's  heights  resound. 

The  shock  of  steeds,  the  hard-won  fight, 

Are  dearer  to  my  mind 
Than  all  the  pleasures  which  delight, 

In  royal  courts  combined. 
Move  on  !  ye  mailed  cavaliers ; 
Pm  eager  for  the  rush  of  spears. 

Now  give  our  banners  to  the  wind ! 

The  Crescent  emblem  waves  : 
And  let  the  Spanish  tyrants  find 

We'll  yield  them  only  graves  ! 
Bring  me  my  gleaming  scimitar ! 
Thus  spoke  the  king  of  Granadar 


HAMET  AROUSING  THE   CITIZENS   OF   GRANADA. 

ANONYMOUS, 
"  SAW  ye  the  banners  of  Castile  displayed, 

The  helmets  glistening,  and  the  line  arrayed  ! 
Heard  ye  the  march  of  steel-clad  hosts  I"  he  cries  ; 
"  Children  of  conquerors  !  in  your  strength  arise  ! 
Oh,  high-born  tribes  !  Oh,  names  unstained  by  fear  1 
Azarques,  Zegris,  Almoradis,  hear ! 
Be  every  feud  forgotten,  and  your  hands 
Dyed  with  no  blood  but  that  of  hostile  bands. 
Wake,  princes  of  the  land !  the  hour  is  come, 
And  the  red  sabre  must  decide  your  doom. 
Where  is  that  spirit  which  prevailed  of  yore, 
When  Tarik's  bands  o'erspread  the  western  shore  ? 
When  the  long  combat  raged  on  Xeres'  plain, 
And  Afric's  tecbir  swelled  through  yielding  Spain  ? 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  417 

Is  the  larice  broken,  is  the  shield  decayed, 

The  warrior's  arm  unstrung,  his  heart  dismayed? 

Shall  no  high  spirit  of  ascendant  worth 

Arise  to  lead  the  sons  of  Islam  forth  ? 

To  guard  the  regions  where  our  fathers'  blood 

Hath  bathed  each  plain,  and  mingled  with  each  flood ; 

Where  long  their  dust  hath  blended  with  the  soil 

Won  by  their  swords,  made  fertile  by  their  toil  ? 

"  Oh,  ye  sierras  of  eternal  snow  ! 
Ye  streams  that  by  the  tombs  of  heroes  flow ; 
Woods,  fountains,  rocks  of  Spain !  ye  saw  their  might 
In  many  a  fierce  and  unforgotten  fight — 
Shall  ye  behold  their  lost,  degenerate  race, 
Dwell  'midst  your  scenes  in  fetters  and  disgrace  ? 
With  each  memorial  of  the  past  around, 
Each  mighty  monument  of  days  renowned? 
May  this  indignant  heart  ere  then  be  cold, 
This  frame  be  gathered  to  its  kindred  mould ! 
And  the  last  life-drop  circling  through  my  veins 
Have  tinged  a  soil  untainted  yet  by  chains ! 

"  And  yet  one  struggle  ere  our  doom  is  sealed, 
One  mighty  effort,  one  deciding  field  ! 
If  vain  each  hope,  we  still  have  choice  to  be, 
In  life  the  fettered,  or  in  death  the  free  I" 


SPANISH   NATIONAL   AIR. 

ANONYMOUS. 
"  VIVIR    EN    CADENAS    CUAN    TRISTE    ES    VIVIR." 

How  wretched  the  fate  of  the  fetter-bound  slave  ! 
How  green  and  how  holy  the  patriot's  grave  ! 
Let  us  rush  to  the  field  !  for  the  trump  from  afar 
Calls  Spaniards  to  triumph,  and  heroes  to  war! 
Our  country  in  tears  sends  her  sons  to  the  plain 
To  conquer, — to  perish  for  freedom  and  Spain  ! 

0  list  to  the  summons !  the  blood  of  our  sires 
Boils  high  in  our  veins, — and  'tis  vengeance  inspires: 
Who  bows  to  the  yoke?  who  bends  to  the  blow  ? 
No  hero  will  bend,  and  no  Spaniard  will  bow ! 
Our  country  in  tears  sends  her  sons  to  the  plain 
To  conquer, — to  perish  for  freedom  and  Spain  ! 
2D 


418  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

My  children  farewell !  my  beloved  adieu  ! 
My  heart's  blood  shall  flow  in  its  torrents  for  you  ; 
These  arms  shall  be  red  with  the  gore  of  the  slain, 
Ere  they  clasp  thee,  fond  wife !  to  this  bosom  again ! 
Our  country  in  tears  sends  her  sons  to  the  plain 
To  conquer, — to  perish  for  freedom  and  Spain ! 


HYMN  OF  THE  MORAVIAN  NUNS  AT  BETHLEHEM;  AT  THE 

CONSECRATION  OF  PULASKl'S  BANNER. 

,  LONGFELLOW. 
WHEN  the  dying  flame  of  day 

Through  the  chancel  shot  its  ray, 

Far  the  glimmering  tapers  shed 

Faint  light  on  the  cowled  head  ; 

And  the  censer  burning  swung, 

Where,  before  the  altar,  hung 

The  blood-red  banner,  that  with  prayer 

Had  been  consecrated  there. 
And  the  nuns'  sweet  hymn  was  heard  the  while, 
Sung  low  in  the  dim,  mysterious  aisle. 

"  Take  thy  banner  !  may  it  wave 
Proudly  o'er  the  good  and  brave  ; 
When  the  battle's  distant  wail 
Breaks  the  Sabbath  of  our  vale, 
When  the  clarion  music's  thrills 
To  the  hearts  of  these  lone  hills, 
When  the  spear  in  conflict  shakes, 
And  the  strong  lance  shivering  breaks. 

"  Take  thy  banner  !  and,  beneath 
The  battle-cloud'-s  encircling  breath, 
Guard  it !  till  our  homes  are  free ! 
Guard  it !  God  will  prosper  thee  ! 
In  the  dark  and  dying  hour, 
In  the  breaking  forth  of  power, 
In  the  rush  of  steeds  and  men, 
His  right  hand  will  shield  thee  then. 

"  Take  thy  banner !  but,  when  night 
Closes  round  the  ghastly  fight, 
If  the  vanquished  warrior  bow, 
Spare  him !  by  our  holy  vow 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  419 

By  our  prayers  and  many  teaVs, 

By  the  mercy  that  endears, 

Spare  him  !  he  our  love  hath  shared  ! 

Spare  him !  as  thou  wouldst  be  spared ! 

"  Take  thy  banner !  and  if  e'er 
Thou  shouldst  press  the  soldier's  bier, 
And  the  muffled  drum  should  beat 
To  the  tread  of  mournful  feet, 
Then  this  crimson  flag  shall  be 
Martial  cloak  and  shroud  for  thee." 

The  warrior  took  that  banner  proud, 
And  it  was  his  martial  cloak  and  shroud ! 


TEE   DEATH   SONG   OF   OUTALISSI. 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 

"  AND  I  could  weep  ;" — the  Oneyda  chief 

His  descant  wildly  thus  begun  : 

"  But  that  I  may  not  stain  with  grief 

The  death-song  of  my  father's  son, 

Or  bow  this  head  in  woe ! 

For  by  my  wrongs,  and  by  my  wrath ! 

To-morrow  Areouski's  breath 

(That  fires  yon  heaven  with  storms  of  death) 

Shall  light  us  to  the  foe : 

And  we  shall  share,  my  Christian  boy  ! 

The  foeman's  blood,  the  avenger's  joy  I 

But  thee,  my  flower,  whose  breath  was  given 

By  milder  genii  o'er  the  deep, 

The  spirits  of  the  white  man's  heaven 

Forbid  not  thee  to  weep : — 

Nor  will  the  Christian  host, 

Nor  will  thy  father's  spirit  grieve, 

To  see  thee,  on  the  battle's  eve, 

Lamenting,  take  a  mournful  leave 

Of  her  who  loved  thee  most : 

She  was  the  rainbow  to  thy  sight ! 

Thy  sun — thy  heaven — of  lost  delight  1 

To-morrow  let  us  do  or  die  ! 

But  when  the  bolt  of  death  is  hurled, 


420          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Ah  !  whither  then  with  thee  to  fly, 

Shall  Outalissi  roam  the  world  ? 

Seek  we  thy  once-loved  home  ? 

The  hand  is  gone  that  cropped  its  flowers : 

Unheard  their  clock  repeats  its  hours  ! 

Cold  is  the  hearth  within  their  bowers ! 

And  should  we  thither  roam, 

Its  echoes,  and  its  empty  tread, 

Would  sound  like  voices  from  the  dead ! 

Or  shall  we  cross  yon  mountain  blue, 

Whose  streams  my  kindred  nation  quaffed, 

And  by  my  side,  in  battle  true, 

A  thousand  warriors  drew  the  shaft  ? 

Ah  !  -there,  in  desolation  cold, 

The  desert  serpent  dwells  alone, 

Where  grass  o'ergrows  each  mouldering  bone, 

And  stones  themselves  to  ruin  grown, 

Like  me  are  death-like  old. 

Then  seek  we  not  their  camp, — for  there — 

The  silence  dwells  'of  my  despair  ! 

But  hark,  the  trump ! — to-morrow  thou 
In  glory's  fires  shalt  dry  thy  tears : 
Even  from  the  land  of  shadows  now 
My  father's  awful  ghost  appears, 
Amidst  the  clouds  that  round  us  roll ; 
He  bids  my  soul  for  battle  thirst — 
He  bids  me  dry  the  last — the  first — 
The  only  tears  that  ever  burst 
From  Outalissi's  soul ; 
Because  I  may  not  stain  with  grief 
The  death-song  of  an  Indian  chief  I" 

From  "  Gertrude  of  Wyvming! 


THE   TENTH   AVATER. 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 

BUT  hark !  as  bowed  to  earth  the  Bramin  kneels, 
From  heavenly  climes  propitious  thunder  peals ! 
Of  India's  fate  her  guardian  spirits  tell, 
Prophetic  murmurs  breathing  on  the  shell, 
And  solemn  sounds  that  awe  the  listening  mind, 
Roll  on  the  azure  paths  of  every  wind. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  421 

Foes  of  mankind  !  (her  guardian  spirits  say), 
Revolving  ages  bring  the  bitter  day, 
When  heaven's  unerring  arm  shall  fall  on  yon, 
And  blood  for  blood  these  Indian  plains  bedew ; 
Nine  times  have  Brama's  wheels  of  lightning  hurled 
His  awful  presence  o'er  the  alarmed  world  ! 
Nine  times  hath  Guilt,  through  all  his  giant  frame, 
Convulsive  trembled,  as  the  Mighty  came  ; 
Nine  times  hath  suffering  Mercy  spared  in  vain — 
But  heaven  shall  burst  her  starry  gates  again  ! 
He  comes !  dread  Brama  shakes  the  sunless  sky 
With  murmuring  wrath,  and  thunders  from  on  high, 
Heaven's  fiery  horse,  beneath  his  warrior  form, 
Paws  the  light  clouds,  and  gallops  on  the  storm  ! 
Wide  waves  his  flickering  sword  ;  his  bright  arms  glow 
Like  summer  suns,  and  light  the  world  below ! 
Earth,  and  her  trembling  isles  in  Ocean's  bed, 
Are  shook ;  and  Nature  rocks  beneath  his  tread ! 

"  To  pour  redress  on  India's  injured  realm, 
The  oppressor  to  dethrone,  the  proud  to  whelm  ; 
To  chase  destruction  from  her  plundered  shore 
With  arts  and  arms  that  triumphed  once  before, 
The  tenth  Avater  comes !  at  Heaven's  command 
Shall  Seriswattee  wave  her  hallowed  wand ! 
And  Camdeo  bright,  and  Ganesa  sublime, 
Shall  bless  with  joy  their  own  propitious  clime  ! — 
Come,  Heavenly  Powers !  primeval  peace  restore ! 
Love ! — Mercy ! — Wisdom  ! — rule  for  evermore  I" 

Prom  "  The  Fleantret  of  Hope." 


WATERLOO. 

LORD  BTBOK 

AND  wild  and  high  the  "Cameron's  gathering"  rosef 
The  war-note  of  Lochiel,  which  Albyn's  hills 
.  Have  heard,  and  heard,  too,  have  her  Saxon  foes : 
How  in  the  noon  of  night  that  pibroch  thrills, 
Savage  and  shrill !     But  with  the  breath  which  fills 
Their  mountain-pipe,  so  fill  the  mountaineers 
With  the  fierce  native  daring  which  instills 
The  stirring  memory  of  a  thousand  years, 
And  Evan's,  Donald's  fame  rings  in  each  clansman's  ears  I 

And  Ardennes  waves  above  them  her  green  leaves/ 

Dewy  with  nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass 

36 


422          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves, 
Over  the  unreturning  brave, — alas  ! 
Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass 
Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow 
In  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass 
Of  living  valor,  rolling  on  the  foe, 
And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  moulder  cold  and  low. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 
Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay, 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife, 
The  morn  the  marshalling  in  arms, — the  day 
Battle's  magnificently-stern  array ! 
The  thunder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which  when  rent, 
The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  other  clay, 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heaped  and  pent, 
Rider  and  horse, — friend,  foe, — in  one  red  burial  blent ! 

From  "  Childe  Harold." 


HUGO  BEFOKE  HIS   FATHER. 

LORD  BYRON. 

AND  here  stern  Azo  hid  his  face — 

For  on  his  brow  the  swelling  vein 

Throbbed  as  if  back  upon  his  brain 

The  hot  blood  ebbed  and  flowed  again ; 
And  therefore  bowed  he  for  a  space, 
And  passed  his  shaking  hand  along 
His  eye,  to  veil  it  from  the  throng ; 
While  Hugo  raised  his  chained  hands, 
And  for  a  brief  delay  demands 
His  father's  ear :  the  silent  sire 
Forbids  not  what  his  words  require. 

"It  is  not  that  I  dread  the  death — 
For  thou  hast  seen  me  by  thy  side 
All  redly  through  the  battle  ride, 
And  that  not  once  a  useless  brand 
Thy  slaves  have  wrested  from  my  hand, 
Hath  shed  more  blood  in  cause  of  thine, 
Than  e'er  can  stain  the  axe  of  mine  : 

"  Yet,  were  a  few  short  summers  mine, 
My  name  should  more  than  Este's  shine 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  423 

With  honors  all  my  own. 

I  had  a  sword — and  have  a  breast 

That  should  have  won  as  haught  a  crest 

As  ever  waved  along  the  line 

Of  all  these  sovereign  sires  of  thine. 

Not  always  knightly  spurs  are  worn 

The  brightest  by  the  better  born  ; 

And  mine  have  lanced  my  courser's  flank 

Before  proud  chiefs  of  princely  rank, 

When  charging  to  the  cheering  cry 

Of  '  Este  and  of  Victory  !'  " 

From  "Parisina." 


GRONGAR    HILL. 

JOHN  DYER. 
EVER  charming,  ever  new, 

When  will  the  landscape  tire  the  view! 
The  fountain's  fall,  the  river's  flow, 
The  woody  valleys,  warm  and  low ; 
The  windy  summit,  wild  and  high, 
Roughly  rushing  on  the  sky  ! 
The  pleasant  seat,  the  ruined  tower, 
The  naked  rock,  the  shady  bower ; 
The  town  and  village,  dome  and  farm, 
Each  give  each  a  double  charm, 
As  pearls  upon  an  jEthiop's  arm. 

See  on  the  mountain's  southern  side, 
Where  the  prospect  opens  wide, 
Where  the  evening  gilds  the  tide ; 
How  close  and  small  the  hedges  lie  ! 
What  streaks  of  meadows  cross  the  eye ! 
A  step  methinks  may  pass  the  stream, 
So  little  distant  dangers  seem  ; 
So  we  mistake  the  future's  face, 
Eyed  through  hope's  deluding  glass ; 
As  yon  summits  soft  and  fair, 
Clad  in  colors  of  the  air, 
Which,  to  those  who  journey  near, 
Barren,  brown,  and  rough  appear ; 
Still  we  tread  the  same  coarse  way, 
The  present 's  still  a  cloudy  day. 

0  may  I  with  myself  agree, 
And  never  covet  what  I  see : 


424  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Content  me  with  an  humble  shade, 
My  passions  tamed,  my  wishes  laid ; 
For,  while  our  wishes  wildly  roll, 
We  banish  quiet  from  the  soul : 
'Tis  thus  the  busy  beat  the  air, 
And  misers  gather  wealth  and  care. 

Now,  even  now,  my  joys  run  high, 
As  on  the  mountain-turf  I  lie  ; 
While  the  wanton  zephyr  sings, 
And  in  the  vale  perfumes  his  wings  ; 
While  the  waters  murmur  deep  ; 
While  the  shepherd  charms  his  sheep ; 
While  the  birds  unbounded  fly, 
And  with  music  fill  the  sky, 
Now,  even  now,  my  joys  run  high, 

Be  full,  ye  courts  ;  be  great  who  will 
Search  for  peace  with  all  your  skill : 
Open  wide  the  lofty  door, 
Seek  her  on  the  marble  floor. 
In  vain  you  search,  she  is  not  there  ; 
In  vain  ye  search  the  domes  of  care  ! 
Grass  and  flowers  quiet  treads, 
On  the  meads  and  mountain-heads, 
Along  'with  pleasure,  close  allied, 
Ever  by  each  other's  side  : 
And  often,  by  the  murmuring  rill, 
Hears  the  thrush,  while  all  is  still, 
Within  the  groves  of  Grongar  Hill. 


THE   DEATH   OF  THE  BKAVE. 

WM.  COLLINS. 

How  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest, 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  bless' d  ! 
When  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mould, 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung ; 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung ; 
There  Honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay ; 
And  Freedom  shall  awhile  repair, 
To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there  ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  425 

FLODDEN   FIELD. 

D.  M.  Mom. 
HARK  to  the  turmoil  and  the  shout, 

The  war-cry,  and  the  cannon's  boom ! 
Behold  the  struggle  and  the  rout, 

The  broken  lance  and  draggled  plume! 
Borne  to  the  earth,  with  deadly  force, 
Comes  down  the  horseman  and  his  horse ; 
Round  boils  the  battle  like  an  ocean, 

While  stripling  blithe  and  veteran  stern 

Pour  forth  their  life-blood  on  the  fern, 
Amid  its  fierce  commotion  ! 

Mown  down  like  swathes  of  summer  flowers, 

Yes !  on  the  cold  earth  there  they  lie, 
The  lords  of  Scotland's  bannered  towers, 

The  chosen  of  her  chivalry  1 
Commingled  with  the  vulgar  dead, 
Perhaps  lies  many  a  mitred  head ; 
And  thou,  the  vanguard  onwards  leading, 

Who  left  the  sceptre  for  the  sword, 

For  battle-field  the  festal  board, 
Liest  low  amid  the  bleeding ! 

Yes  !  here  thy  life-star  knew  decline, 
Though  hope,  that  strove  to  be  deceived, 

Shaped  thy  lone  course  to  Palestine, 
And  what  it  wished  full  oft  believed : — 

An  unhewn  pillar  on  the  plain 

Marks  out  the  spot  where  thou  wast  slain ; 

There  pondering  as  I  stood,  and  gazing 
On  its  gray  top,  the  linnet  sang, 
And,  o'er  the  slopes  where  conflict  rang, 

The  quiet  sheep  were  grazing. 

And  were  the  nameless  dead  unsung, 

The  patriot  and  the  peasant  train, 
Who  like  a  phalanx  round  theo  clung, 

To  find  but  death  on  Flodden  Plain  ? 
No  !  many  a  mother's  melting  lay 
Mourned  o'er  the  bright  flowers  wede  away ; 
And  many  a  maid,  with  tears  of  sorrow, 

Whose  locks  no  more  were  seen  to  wave, 

Wept  for  the  beauteous  and  the  brave, 
Who  came  not  on  the  morrow  ! 
36* 


426  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


THE   BATTLE    OF   BUENA   VISTA. 

ALBERT  PIKE. 

FROM  the  Rio  Grande's  waters  to  the  icy  lakes  of  Maine, 
Let  all  exult !  for  we  have  met  the  enemy  again— 
Beneath  their  stern  old  mountains,  we  have  met  them  in  their  pride, 
And  rolled  from  Buena  Vista  back  the  battle's  bloody  tide  ; 
Where  the  enemy  came  surging,  like  the  Mississippi's  flood, 
And  the  reaper,  Death,  was  busy  with  his  sickle  red  with  blood. 

Santa  Anna  boasted  loudly,  that,  before  two  hours  were  past, 
His  lancers  through  Saltillo  should  pursue  us  thick  and  fast ; 
On  came  his  solid  regiments,  line  marching  after  line ; 
Lo,  their  great  standards  in  the  sun  like  sheets  of  silver  shine : 
With  thousands  upon  thousands,  yea,  with  more  than  four  to  one, 
A  forest  of  bright  bayonets  gleams  fiercely  in  the  sun. 

Upon  them  with  your  squadrons,  May ! — Out  leaps  the  flaming  steel ; 

Before  his  serried  column  how  the  frightened  lancers  reel ! 

They  flee  amain.     Now  to  the  left,  to  stay  their  triumph  there, 

Or  else  the  day  is  surely  lost  in  horror  and  despair ; 

For  their  hosts  are  pouring  swiftly  on,  like  a  river  in  the  spring : 

Our  flank  is  turned,  and  on  our  left  their  cannon  thundering. 

Now,  brave  artillery  !  bold  dragoons ! — Steady,  my  men,  and  calm ! 
Through  rain,  cold,  hail,  and  thunder ;  now  nerve  each  gallant  arm  1 
What  though  their  shot  falls  round  us  here,  still  thicker  than  the  hail  ! 
We'll  stand  against  them,  as  the  rock  stands  firm  against  the  gale. 
Lo !  their  battery  is  silenced  now :  our  iron  hail  still  showers : 
They  falter,  halt,  retreat !     Hurrah  !  the  glorious  day  is  ours  ! 

Now  charge  again,  Santa  Anna !  or  the  day  is  surely  lost ; 

For  back,  like  broken  waves,  along  our  left  your  hordes  are  tossed. 

Still  louder  roar  two  batteries — his  strong  reserve  moves  on  ; — 

More  work  is  there  before  you,  men,  ere  the  good  fight  is  won  ; 

Now  for  your  wives  and  children  stand  !  steady,  my  braves,  once  more  ! 

Now  for  your  lives,  your  honor,  fight !  as  you  never  fought  before. 

Ho !  Hardin  breasts  it  bravely !     McKee  and  Bissell  there 
Stand  firm  before  the  storm  of  balls  that  fills  th'  astonished  air. 
The  lancers  are  upon  them,  too  ! — the  foe  swarms  ten  to  one — 
Hardin  is  slain — McKee  and  Clay  the  last  time  see  the  sun  ; 
And  many  another  gallant  heart,  in  that  last  desperate  fray, 
Grew  cold,  its  last  thoughts  turning  to  its  loved  ones  far  away. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  427 

Still  sullenly  the  cannon  roared — but  died  away  at  last, 
And  o'er  the  dead  and  dying  came  the  evening  shadows  fast, 
And  then  above  the  mountains  rose  the  cold  moon's  silver  shield, 
And  patiently  and  pityingly  looked  down  upon  the  field ; 
And  careless  of  his  wounded,  and  neglectful  of  his  dead, 
Despairingly  and  sullen,  in  the  night,  Santa  Anna  fled. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  CERRO  GORDO. 

ANONYMOUS. 
SCARCE  the  tropic  dawn  is  glowing; 

Scarce  your  eye  can  pierce  the  dark, 
When  one  voice  breaks  through  the  stillness: 
;T  is  our  gallant  leader — hark ! 

FORWARD  ! — like  the  pealing  thunder, 

Thousand  voices  swell  the  sound  ! 
While  mid  groans,  and  smoke,  and  fire, 

Far  it  echoes  round  and  round. 

Every  eye  is  glaring  wildly ; 

Every  sabre  swinging  high  ; 
Every  musket  at  the  shoulder, 

Ready  all  to  do  or  die. 

All  are  doing,  many  dying ; 

GOD  of  mercy,  how  they  fall ! 
"  Forward  ever  I"  fast  and  fearless, 

Now  we  reach  the  outer  wall. 

Here  we  halt  to  close  together ; 

Here  one  "  Anglo-Saxon  yell," 
And  like  surging  billows  breaking, 

Pour  we  on  their  citadel. 

Then  thy  palisadoed  ravine, 

Plan  del  Rio,  heard  the  cries ; 
Now  the  "  Bravo  Santiago," 

Now  the  shrill  "hurrahs"  that  rise. 

Swords  are  dripping,  bayonets  bloody, 
Prayers  and  curses  blending  high  ; 


428          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

"Three  times  three  !  the  fight  is  over ; 
Three  times  three  for  victory  1" 

On  the  "royal  road"  retreating, 
Like  the  heavings  of  the  sea, 

O'er  the  fields  like  spray  dispersing, 
Everywhere  for  life  they  flee. 

Scarce  the  battle-din  is  fainter, 

Stilt  the  wind  brings  back  the  shout, 

"When  like  tigers  from  their  coverts 
Our  dragoons  are  on  the  route. 

"  Spare,  oh  spare  !"  the  hot  blood  boileth  ; 

Still  the  sabres  whirl  in  air ; 
"  Spare,  oh  spare  I"  the  rich  blood  poureth 

"  For  God's  holy  Mother  spare!" 

Now  the  smoky  clouds  are  lifting ; 

Earth  lies  drunken,  dark,  and  red  ; 
/     Now,  through  dead  and  dying  roaming, 
Woman  comes  to  seek  her  dead. 

Cerro  Gordo,  Cerro  Gordo ! 

Thy  rich  slopes  with  men  are  sown ; 
At  thy  base  the  vulture  flieth, 

Where  his  luscious  prey  is  thrown. 

Cerro  Gordo,  on  thy  summit 
War  with  iron  tramp  hath  trod : 

Yet  how  silent  hath  he  left  thee  ! 
Silent  till  the  day  of  God. 

When  the  mighty  angel's  trumping 

Heaven's  eternal  arch  shall  fill, 
^~     Once  again  shall  battle-thousands 
Stand  on  Cerro  Gordo  hill. 


"BOIS  TON"   SANG,    BEAUMANOIR." 

MBS.  3saooD. 

FIERCE  raged  the  combat — the  foemen  pressed  nigh, 
When  from  young  Beaumanoir  rose  the  wild  cry, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  429 

Beaumanoir,  mid  them  all,  bravest  and  first — 
"  Give  me  to  drink,  for  I  perish  of  thirst!" 
Hark !  at  his  side,  in  the  deep  tones  of  ire, 
"  Bois  ton  SANG,  Beaumanoir  \"  shouted  his  sire. 

Deep  had  it  pierced  him — the  foemen's  swift  sword, 
Deeper  his  soul  felt  the  wound  of  that  word : 
Back  to  the  battle,  with  forehead  all  flushed, 
Stung  to  wild  fury,  the  noble  youth  rushed ! 
Scorn  in  his  dark  eyes — his  spirit  on  fire — 
Deeds  were  his  answer  that  day  to  his  sire. 
Still  where  triumphant  the  young  hero  came, 
Glory's  bright  garland  encircled  his  name: 
But  in  her  bower,  to  beauty  a  slave, 
Dearer  the  guerdon  his  lady-love  gave, 
While  on  his  shield,  that  no  shame  had  defaced, 
"  Bois  ton  sang,  Beaumanoir  \"  proudly  she  traced. 


THE   LAMENTATION   OF   DON   RODERICK. 

J.  G.  LCCKHART. 

THE  hosts  of  Don  Rodrigo  were  scattered  in  dismay, 
When  lo^t  was  the  eighth  battle,  nor  heart  nor  hope  had  they ; 
He,  when  he  saw  that  field  was  lost,  and  all  his  hope  was  flown, 
He  turned  him  from  his  flying  host,  and  took  his  way  alone. 

His  horse  was  bleeding,  blind,  and  lame — he  could  no  farther  go ; 
Dismounted,  without  path  or  aim,  the  King  stepped  to  and  fro ; 
It  was  a  sight  of  pity  to  look  on  Eoderick, 
For,  sore  athirst  and  hungry,  he  staggered  faint  and  sick. 

All  stained  and  strewed  with  dust  and  blood,  like  to  some  smouldering 

brand 

Plucked  from  the  flame,  Rodrigo  showed :  his  sword  was  in  his  hand, 
But  it  was  hacked  into  a  saw  of  dark  and  purple  tint ; 
His  jewelled  mail  had  many  a  flaw,  his  helmet  many  a  dint. 


He  climbed  unto  a  hill-top,  the  highest  he  could 
Thence  all  about  of  that  wide  rout  his  last  long  look  took  he ; 
He  saw  his  royal  banners,  where  they  lay  drenched  and  torn, 
He  heard  the  cry  of  victory,  the  Arab's  shout  of  scorn. 

He  looked  for  the  brave  captains  that  led  the  hosts  of  Spain, 
But  all  were  fled  except  the  dead,  and  who  could  count  the  slain? 


430          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Where'er  his  eye  could  wander,  all  bloody  was  the  plain, 
And,  while  thus  he  said,  the  tears  he  shed  run  down  his  cheeks  like 
rain : — 

"  Last  night  I  was  the  King  of  Spain — to-day  no  King  am  I ; 
Last  night  fair  castles  held  my  train — to-night  where  shall  I  He? 
Last  night  a  hundred  pages  did  serve  me  on  the  knee, — 
To-night  not  one  I  call  mine  own : — not  one  pertains  to  me. 

"  Oh,  luckless,  luckless  was  the  hour,  and  cursed  was  the  day, 
When  I  was  born  to  have  the  power  of  this  great  seniory  ! 
Unhappy  me  that  I  should  see  the  sun  go  down  to-night ! 
0  Death,  why  now  so  slow  art  thou,  why  fearest  thou  to  smite  ?" 


THE   LOKD    OF   BUTRAGO. 

J.  G.  LOCKHART. 

"  YOUR  horse  is  faint,  my  King — my  Lord !  your  gallant  horse  is  sick — 
His  limbs  are  torn,  his  breast  is  gored,  on  his  eye  the  film  is  thick ; 
Mount,  mount  on  mine,  oh,'  mount  apace,  I  pray  thee,  mount  and  fly  1 
Or  in  my  arms  I'll  lift  your  grace — their  trampling  hoofs  are  nigh  ! 

"  My  King — my  King !  you're  wounded  sore — the  blood  runs  from 

your  feet ; 

But  only  lay  a  hand  before,  and  I'll  lift  you  to  your  seat : 
Mount,  Juan,  for  they  gather  fast ! — I  hear  their  coming  cry — 
Mount,  mount,  and  ride  for  jeopardy — I'll  save  you  though  I  die ! 

"  Stand,  noble  steed  !  this  hour  of  need — be  gentle  as  a  lamb : 
I'll  kiss  the  foam  from  off  thy  mouth — thy  master  dear  I  am — 
Mount,  Juan,  mount !  whate'er  betide,  away  the  bridle  fling, 
And  plunge  the  rowels  in  his  side. — My  horse  shall  save  my  Kmgl 

"  Nay,  never  speak ;  my  sires,  Lord  King,  received  their  land  from 

yours, 

And  joyfully  their  blood  shall  spring,  so  be  it  thine  secures : 
If  I  should  fly,  and  thou,  my  King,  be  found  among  the  dead, 
How  could  I  stand  'mong  gentlemen,  such  scorn  on  my  gray  head  ? 

"  Castile's  proud  dames  shall  never  point  the  finger  of  disdain, 
And  say  there's  ONE  that  ran  away  when  our  good  lords  were  slain  ! — 
I  leave  Diego  in  your  care — you'll  fill  his  father's  place : 
Strike,   strike   the  spur,    and   never   spare — God's   blessing   on   your 
grace  !" 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  431 

So  spake  the  brave  Montanez,  Butrago's  lord  was  he ; 
And  turned  him  to  the  coming  host  in  steadfastness  and  glee ; 
He  flung  himself  among  them,  as  they  came  down  the  hill — 
He  died,  God  wot !  but  not  before  his  sword  had  drunk  its  fill. 


MAECH   TO   LONDON. 

LORD  MACACLAY 
To  horse  !  to  horse  !  brave  cavaliers  ! 

To  horse  for  church  and  crown  ! 
Strike,  strike  your  tents  !  snatch  up  your  spears  1 

And  ho  for  London  town  ! 
The  imperial  harlot,  doomed  a  prey 

To  our  avenging  fires, 
Sends  up  the  voice  of  her  dismay 

From  all  her  hundred  spires. 

The  Strand  resounds  with  maidens'  shrieks, 

The  'Change  with  merchants'  sighs, 
And  blushes  stand  on  brazen  cheeks, 

And  tears  in  iron  eyes  ; 
And,  pale  with  fasting  and  with  fright, 

Each  Puritan  committee 
Hath  summoned  forth  to  prayer  and  fight 

The  Roundheads  of  the  city. 

And  soon  shall  London's  sentries  hear 

The  thunder  of  our  drum, 
And  London's  dames,  in  wilder  fear, 

Shall  cry,  Alack  !     They  come ! 
Fling  the  fascines  ; — tear  up  the  spikes ; 

And  forward,  one  and  all. 
Down,  down  with  all  their  train-band  pikes, 

Down  with  their  mud-built  wall. 

Quarter  ? — Foul  fall  your  whining  noise, 

Ye  recreant  spawn  of  fraud  ! 
No  quarter !     Think  on  Strafford,  boys. 

No  quarter !     Think  on  Laud. 
What  ho  !     The  craven  slaves  retire. 

On  !     Trample  them  to  mud. 
No  quarter  !     Charge. — No  quarter  ! 

No  quarter!     Blood!  blood!  blood.! — 


432  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Where  next  ?     In  sooth  there  lacks  no  witch, 

Brave  lads,  to  tell  us  where, 
Sure  London's  sons  be  passing  rich, 

Her  daughters  wondrous  fair : 
And  let  that  dastard  be  the  theme 

Of  many  a  board's  derision, 
Who  quails  for  sermon,  cuff,  or  scream 

Of  any  sweet  precisian. 

Their  lean  divines,  of  solemn  brow, 

Sworn  foes  to  throne  and  steeple, 
From  an  unwonted  pulpit  now 

Shall  edify  the  people : 
Till  the  tired  hangman,  in  despair, 

Shall  curse  his  blunted  shears, 
And  vainly  pinch,  and  scrape,  and  tear, 

Around  their  leathern  ears. 

We'll  hang,  above  his  own  Guildhall, 

The  city's  grave  Recorder, 
And  on  the  den  of  thieves  we'll  fall, 

Though  Pym  should  speak  to  order. 
In  vain  the  lank-haired  gang  shall  try 

To  cheat  our  martial  law ; 
In  vain  shall  Lenthall  trembling  cry 

That  strangers  must  withdraw. 

Of  bench  and  woolsack,  tub  and  chair, 

We'll  build  a  glorious  pyre, 
And  tons  of  rebel  parchment  there 

Shall  crackle  in  the  fire. 
With  them  shall  perish,  cheek  by  jowl, 

Petition,  psalm,  and  libel, 
The  colonel's  canting  muster-roll, 

The  chaplain's  dog-eared  Bible. 

We'll  tread  a  measure  round  the  blaze 

Where  England's  pest  expires, 
And  lead  along  the  dance's  maze 

The  beauties  of  the  friars  : 
Then  smiles  in  every  face  shall  shine, 

And  joy  in  every  soul. 
Bring  forth,  bring  forth  the  oldest  wine, 

And  crown  the  largest  bowl. 

And  as  with  nod  and  laugh  ye  sip 
The  goblet's  rich  carnation, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  433 

Whose  bursting  bubbles  seem  to  tip 

The  wink  of  invitation  ; 
Drink  to  those  names, — those  glorious  names, — 

Those  names  no  time  shall  sever, — 
Drink,  in  a  draught  as  deep  as  Thames, 

Our  church  and  king  for  ever  ! 


THE   COMBAT   OF   HEKMINIUS  AND  MAMILIUS. 

LORD  MACAULAT. 
RIGHT  glad  were  all  the  Romans 

Who,  in  that  hour  of  dread, 
Against  great  odds  bare  up  the  war 

Around  Valerius  dead, 
When  from  the  south  the  cheering 

Rose  with  a  mighty  swell ; 
"  Herminius  comes,  Herminius, 

Who  kept  the  bridge  so  well !" 

Mamilius  spied  Herminius, 

And  dashed  across  the  way. 
"  Herminius  !  I  have  sought  thee 

Through  many  a  bloody  day. 
One  of  us  two,  Herminius, 

Shall  never  more  go  home. 
I  will  lay  on  for  Tusculum, 

And  lay  thou  on  for  Rome  !" 

All  round  them  paused  the  battle, 

While  met  in  mortal  fray 
The  Roman  and  the  Tusculan, 

The  horses  black  and  gray. 
Herminius  smote  Mamilius 

Through  breast-plate  and  through  breast ; 
And  fast  flowed  out  the  purple  blood 

Over  the  purple  vest. 
Mamilius  smote  Herminius 

Through  head-piece  and  through  head ; 
And  side  by  side  those  chiefs  of  pride 

Together  fell  down  dead. 
Down  fell  they  dead  together 

In  a  great  lake  of  gore ; 
And  still  stood  all  who  saw  them  fall 

While  men  might  count  a  score. 

From  «  The  Battle  of  the  Lake  Regillus." 

37  2E 


434  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

ATTILA   ON   THE    BATTLE-FIELD    OF   CHALONS. 

W.  HERBERT. 

STREWN  on  every  side 

Lay  dead  and  dying,  like  the  scattered  seed 
Cast  by  the  husbandman,  with  other  thoughts 
Of  unstained  harvest ;  chariots  overthrown, 
Shields  cast  behind,  and  wheels,  and  severed  limbs, 
Rider  and  steed,  and  all  the  merciless  shower 
Of  arrows  barbed,  strong  shafts,  and  feathered  darts 
Winged  with  dismay.     As  when  of  Alpine  snows 
The  secret  fount  is  opened,  and  dread  sprites, 
That  dwell  in  those  crystalline  solitudes 
Have  loosed  the  avalanche  whose  deep-thundering  moan, 
Predicting  ruin,  on  his  couch  death-doomed 
The  peasant  hears  ;  waters  on  waters  rush 
Uptearing  all  impediment,  woods,  rocks, 
Ice  rifted  from  the  deep  caerulean  glens, 
Herds  striving  with  the  stream,  and  bleating  flocks, 
The  dwellers  of  the  dale,  with  all  of  life 
That  made  the  cottage  blithesome ;  but  ere  long 
The  floods  o'erpass ;  the  ravaged  valley  lies 
Tranquil  and  mute  in  ruin.     So  confused 
In  awful  stillness  lay  the  battle's  wreck. 
Here  heaps  of  slain,  as  by  an  eddy  cast, 
And  hands,  which,  stiff,  still  clenched  the  ruddy  steel, 
Showed  rallied  strength,  and  life  sold  dearly.     There 
Equal  and  mingled  havoc,  where  the  tide 
Doubtful  had  paused  whether  to  ebb  or  flow. 
Some  prone  were  cast,  some  headlong,  some  supine ; 
Others  yet  strove  with  death.     The  sallow  cheek 
Of  the  slain  Avar  pressed  the  mangled  limbs 
Of  yellow-haired  Sicambrian,  whose  blue  eyes 
Still  swum  in  agony ;  Gelonic  steed 
Lay  panting  on  the  cicatrized  form 
Of  his  grim  lord,  whose  painted  brow  convulsed 
Seemed  a  ferocious  mockery.     There,  mixed 
The  Getic  archer  with  the  savage  Hun, 
And  Dacian  lancers  lay,  and  sturdy  Goths 
Pierced  by  Sarmatian  pike.     There,  once  his  pride 
The  Sueve's  long-flowing  hair  with  gore  besprent, 
And  Alans  stout,  in  Roman  tunic  clad. 
Some  of  apparel  stripped  by  coward  bands 
That  vulture-like  upon  the  skirts  of  war 
Ever  hang  merciless  ;  their  naked  fornis 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  435 

In  death  yet  beauteous,  though  the  eburnean  limbs 
Blood  had  defiled.     There  some,  whom  thirst  all  night 
Had  parched,  too  feeble  from  that  fellowship 
To  drag  their  fevered  heads,  aroused  at  dawn 
From  fearful  dreaming  to  new  hope  and  life, 
Die  rifled  by  the  hands  whose  help  they  crave. 
Others  lie  maimed  and  torn,  too  strong  to  die, 
Imploring  death.     Oh,  for  some  friendly  aid 
To  staunch  their  burning  wounds  and  cool  the  lip 
Refreshed  with  water  from  an  unstained  spring ! 


THE   BENDED   BOW. 

MRS.  HEMANS. 
THERE  was  heard  the  sound  of  a  coming  foe, 

There  was  sent  through  Britain  a  bended  bow ; 
And  a  voice  was  poured  on  the  free  winds  far, 
As  the  land  rose  up  at  the  sign  of  war. 

"  Heard  you  not  the  battle  horn  ? — 
Reaper  !  leave  thy  golden  corn  ! 
Leave  it  for  the  birds  of  heaven, 
Swords  must  flash,  and  spears  be  riven ! 
Leave  it  for  the  winds  to  shed — 
Arm  !  ere  Britain's  turf  grow  red  I" 

And  the  reaper  armed,  like  a  freeman's  son  ; 
And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on. 

"  Hunter  !  leave  the  mountain  chase ! 
Take  the  falchion  from  its  place ! 
Let  the  wolf  go  free  to-day, 
Leave  him  for  a  nobler  prey ! 
Let  the  deer  ungalled  sweep  by, — 
Arm  thee !  Britain's  foes  are  nigh  !" 

And  the  hunter  armed  ere  the  chase  was  done ; 
And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on. 

"  Chieftain  !  quit  the  joyous  feast ! 
Stay  not  till  the  song  hath  ceased : 
Though  the  mead  be  foaming  bright, 
Though  the  fire  give  ruddy  light, 
Leave  the  hearth  and  leave  the  hall — 
Arm  thee !  Britain's  foes  must  fall." 


436  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

And  the  chieftain  armed,  and  the  horn  was  blown ; 
And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on. 

"  Prince !  thy  father's  deeds  are  told, 
In  the  bower  and  in  the  hold ! 
Where  the  goatherd's  lay  is  sung, 
Where  the  minstrel's  harp  is  strung ! 
Foes  are  on  thy  native  sea — 
Give  our  bards  a  tale  of  thee  I" 

And  the  prince  came  armed,  like  a  leader's  son  ; 
And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on. 

"  Mother !  stay  thou  not  thy  boy ! 
He  must  learn  the  battle's  joy. 
Sister !  bring  the  sword  and  spear, 
Give  thy  brother  words  of  cheer ! 
Maiden  !  bid  thy  lover  part, 
Britain  calls  the  strong  in  heart  I" 

And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on ; 
And  the  bards  made  song  for  a  battle  won. 


THE   LYEE   AND   SWOED. 

GEORGE  LUNT 
THE  freeman's  glittering  sword  be  blest, — 

For  ever  blest  the  freeman's  lyre, — 
That  rings  upon  the  tyrant's  crest ; 

This  stirs  the  heart  like  living  fire : 
Well  can  he  wield  the  shining  brand, 
Who  battles  for  his  native  land  ; 

But  when  his  fingers  sweep  the  chords, 

That  summon  heroes  to  the  fray, 
They  gather  at  the  feat  of  swords, 
Like  mountain-eagles  to  their  prey ! 

And  mid  the  vales  and  swelling  hills, 

That  sweetly  bloom  in  Freedom's  land, 
A  living  spirit  breathes  and  fills 

The  freeman's  heart  and  nerves  his  hand ; 
For  the  bright  soil  that  gave  him  birth, 
The  home  of  all  he  loves  on  earth, — 

For  this  when  Freedom's  trumpet  calls, 
He  waves  on  high  his  sword  of  fire, — 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  437 

For  this,  amidst  his  country's  halls 
For  ever  strikes  the  freeman's  lyre ! 

His  burning  heart  he  may  not  lend 

To  serve  a  doting  despot's  sway, — 
A  suppliant  knee  he  will  not  bend, 

Before  these  things  of  "  brass  and  clay:" 
When  wrong  and  ruin  call  to  war, 
He  knows  the  summons  from  afar ; 

On  high  his  glittering  sword  he  waves, 
And  myriads  feel  the  freeman's  fire, 

While  he,  around  their  father's  graves, 
Strikes  to  old  strains  the  freeman's  lyre ! 


THE  CAVALIER'S  SONG. 

WM.  MOTHERWELL. 

A  STEED,  a  steed  of  matchlesse  speed ! 

A  sword  of  metal  keene  ! 
All  else  to  noble  heartes  is  drosse, 

All  else  on  earth  is  meane. 
The  neighynge  of  the  war-horse  prowde, 

The  rowlings  of  the  drum, 
The  clangor  of  the  trumpet  lowde, 

Be  soundes  from  heaven  that  come  ; 
And  0 !  the  thundering  presse  of  knightes 

When  as  their  war-cry  es  swell, 
May  tole  from  heaven  an  angel  bright, 

And  rouse  a  fiend  from  hell. 

Then  mounte !  then  mounte !  brave  gallants  all, 

And  don  your  helmes  amaine : 
Deathe's  couriers,  fame  and  honor,  call 

Us  to  the  field  againe. 
No  shrewish  teares  shall  fill  our  eye 

When  the  sword-hilt's  in  our  hand, — 
Heart-whole  we'll  part,  and  no  whit  sighe 

For  the  fayrest  of  the  land  ; 
Let  piping  swaine,  and  craven  wight 

Thus  weepe  and  puling  crye, 
Our  business  is  like  men  to  fight, 

And  hero-like  to  die  ! 
37* 


438  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


KIO   BKAVO — A   MEXICAN   LAMENT. 

C.  F.  HOFFMAN. 

Rio  BRAVO  !  Rio  Bravo ! — saw  men  ever  such  a  sight 
Since  the  field  of  Roncesvalles  sealed  the  fate  of  many  a  knight ! 
Dark  is  Palo  Alto's  story — sad  Resaca  Palma's  rout — 
Ah  me !  upon  those  fields  so  gory  how  many  a  gallant  life  went  out. 
There  our  best  and  bravest  lances  shivered  'gainst  the  Northern  steel, 
Left  the  valiant  hearts  that  couched  them  'neath  the  Northern  charger's 

heel. 

Rio  Bravo  !  Rio  Bravo  !  brave  hearts  ne'er  mourned  such  a  sight, 
Since  the  noblest  lost  their  life-blood  in  the  Roncesvalles  fight. 

There  Arista,  best  and  bravest — there  Raguena,  tried  and  true, 
On  the  fatal  field  thou  lavest,  nobly  did  all  men  could  do ; 
Vainly  there  those  heroes  rally,  Castile  on  Montezuma's  shore, 
Vainly  there  shone  Aztec  valor  brightly  as  it  shone  of  yore. 
Rio  Bravo  !  Rio  Bravo !  saw  men  ever  such  a  sight, 
Since  the  dews  of  Roncesvalles  wept  for  paladin  and  knight. 

Heard  ye  not  the  wounded  coursers  shrieking  on  yon  trampled  banks, 
As  the  Northern  winged  artillery  thundered  on  our  shattered  ranks  ? 
On  they  came — those  Northern  horsemen — on  like  eagles  toward  the 

sun  ; 

Followed  then  the  Northern  bayonet,  and  the  field  was  lost  and  won. 
Rio  Bravo  !  Rio  Bravo  !  minstrel  ne'er  sung  such  a  fight, 
Since  the  lay  of  Roncesvalles  sang  the  fame  of  martyred  knight. 
Rio  Bravo  !  fatal  river !   saw  ye  not,  while  red  with  gore, 
One  cavalier  all  headless  quiver,  a  nameless  trunk  upon  thy  shore  ? 
Other  champions  not  less  noted  sleep  beneath  thy  sullen  wave : 
Sullen  water,  thou  hast  floated  armies  to  an  ocean  grave. 
Rio  Bravo  1  Rio  Bravo !  lady  ne'er  wept  such  a  sight, 
Since  the  moon  of  Roncesvalles  kissed  in  death  her  own  loved  knight. 

Weepest  thou,  lorn  Lady  Inez,  for  thy  lover  mid  the  slain  ? 
Brave  La  Vega's  trenchant  sabre  cleft  his  slayer  to  the  brain — 
Brave  La  Vega,  who,  all  lonely,  by  a  host  of  foes  beset, 
Yielded  up  his  falchion  only  when  his  equal  there  he  met. 
Oh,  for  Roland's  horn  to  rally  his  paladins  by  that  sad  shore ! 
Rio  Bravo,  Roncesvalles,  ye  are  names  linked  evermore. 

Sullen  river  !  sullen  river  !  vultures  drink  thy  gory  wave, 
But  they  blur  not  those  loved  features,  which  not  Love  himself  could 
save. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY  439 

Rio  Bravo,  thou  wilt  name  not  that  lone  corse  upon  thy  shore, 
But  in  prayer  sad  Inez  names  him — names  him  praying  evermore. 
Rio  Bravo !  Rio  Bravo  !  lady  ne'er  mourned  such  a  knight, 
Since  the  fondest  hearts  were  broken  by  the  Roncesvalles  figKt, 


THE    ORIGIN   OF   THE   MARSEILLAISE. 

0.  W.  HOLMES. 

SCOURGE  of  mankind  !  with  all  the  dread  array, 
That  wraps  in  wrath  thy  desolating  way, 
As  the  wild  tempest  wakes  the  slumbering  sea, 
Thou  only  teachest  all  that  man  can  be. 
Alike  thy  tocsin  has  the  power  to  charm 
The  toil-knit  sinews  of  the  rustic's  arm, 
Or  swell  the  pulses  in  the  poet's  veins, 
And  bid  the  nations  tremble  at  his  strains. 

The  city  slept  beneath  the  moonbeam's  glance, 
Her  white  walls  gleaming  through  the  vines  of  France, 
And  all  was  hushed,  save  where  the  footsteps  fell, 
On  some  high  tower,  of  midnight  sentinel. 
But  one  still  watched ;  no  self-encircled  woes 
Chased  from  his  lids  the  angel  of  repose  ; 
He  watched,  he  wept,  for  thoughts  of  bitter  years 
Bowed  his  dark  lashes,  wet  with  burning  tears  ; 
His  country's  sufferings  and  her  children's  shame 
Streamed  o'er  his  memory  like  a  forest's  flame, 
Each  treasured  insult,  each  remembered  wrong, 
Rolled  through  his  heart  and  kindled  into  song ; 
His  taper  faded;  and  the  morning  gales 
Swept  through  the  world  the  war-song  of  Marseilles  ! 

From  "  Poetry,  A  Metrical  Essay." 


"  QUI  VIVE  !" 

0.  W.  HOLMES. 
"  Qui  VIVE  !"     The  sentry's  musket  rings^ 

The  channelled  bayonet  gleams  ; 
High  o'er  him,  like  a  raven's  wings 
The  broad  tri-colored  banner  flings 
Its  shadow,  rustling  as  it  swings 

Pale  in  the  moonlight  beams  ; 


440          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Pass  on  !  while  steel-clad  sentries  keep 
Their  vigil  o'er  the  monarch's  sleep, 

Thy  bare,  unguarded  breast 
Asks  not  the  unbroken,  bristling  zone 
That  girds  yon  sceptred  trembler's  throne  ;- 

Pass  on,  and  "take  thy  rest ! 

"  Qui  vive  !"     How  oft  the  midnight  air 

That  startling  cry  has  borne ! 
How  oft  the  evening  breeze  has  fanned 
The  banner  of  this  haughty  land, 
O'er  mountain  snow  and  desert  sand, 

Ere  yet  its  folds  were  torn  ! 
Through  Jena's  carnage  flying  red, 
.Or  tossing  o'er  Marengo's  dead, 

Or  curling  on  the  towers 
Where  Austria's  eagle  quivers  yet, 
And  suns  the  ruffled  plumage,  wet 

With  battle's  crimson  showers  ! 

"  Qui  vive  !"     And  is  the  sentry's  cry, — 

The  sleepless  soldier's  hand, — 
Are  these, — the  painted  folds  that  fly 
And  lift  their  emblems,  printed  high, 
On  morning  mist  and  sunset  sky,— 

The  guardians  of  a  land  ? 
No  !     If  the  patriot's  pulses  sleep, 
How  vain  the  watch  that  hirelings  keep, — 

The  idle  flag  that  waves, 
When  Conquest,  with  his  iron  heel, 
Treads  down  the  standards  and  the  steel 

That  belt  the  soil  of  slaves  ! 


ENGLAND'S  DEAD. 

MRS.  HEMANS. 
SON  of  the  ocean  isle ! 

Where  sleep  your  mighty  dead  ? 
Show  me  what  high  and  stately  pile 
Is  reared  o'er  Glory's  bed. 

Go,  stranger !  track  the  deep ! 
Free,  free  the  white  sail  spread ! 
Wave  may  not  foam,  nor  wild  wind  sweep, 
Where  rest  not  England's  dead. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  441 

On  Egypt's  burning  plains, 
By  the  pyramid  o'erswayed, 
With  fearful  power  the  noonday  reigns, 
And  the  palm  trees  yield  no  shade. 

But  let  the  angry  sun 
From  heaven  look  fiercely  red, 
Unfelt  by  those  whose  task  is  done  ! — 
There  slumber  England's  dead. 

The  hurricane  hath  might 
Along  the  Indian  shore, 
And  far  by  Ganges'  banks  at  night, 
Is  heard  the  tiger's  roar. 

But  let  the  sound  roll  on ! 
It  hath  no  tone  of  dread, 
For  those  that  from  their  toils  are  gone, — 
There  slumber  England's  dead. 

Loud  rush  the  torrent-floods 

The  western  wilds  among, 

And  free,  in  green  Columbia's  woods 

The  hunter's  bow  is  strung. 

But  let  the  floods  rush  on  ! 
Let  the  arrow's  flight  be  sped  ! 
Why  should  they  reck  whose  task  is  done  ? — 
There  slumber  England's  dead ! 

The  mountain-storms  rise  high 
In  the  snowy  Pyrenees, 
And  toss  the  pine  boughs  through  the  sky, 
Like  rose  leaves  on  the  breeze. 

But  let  the  storm  rage  on  ! 
Let  the  fresh  wreaths  be  shed ! 
For  the  Roncesvalles'  field  is  won, — 
There  slumber  England's  dead. 

On  the  frozen  deeps  repose 
'Tis  a  dark  and  dreadful  hour, 
When  round  the  ship  the  ice-fields  close, 
And  the  northern  night-clouds  lower. 


442  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

But  let  the  ice  drift  on  ! 
Let  the  cold-blue  desert  spread ! 
Their  course  with  mast  and  flag  is  done, — 
Even  there  sleeps  England's  dead. 

The  warlike  of  the  isles, 
The  men  of  field  and  wave  ! 
Are  not  the  rocks  their  funeral  piles, 
The  seas  and  shores  their  grave  ! 

Go,  stranger !  track  the  deep, 
Free,  free  the  white  sail  spread ! 
Wave  may  not  foam,  nor  wild  wind  sweep. 
Where  rest  not  England's  dead. 


THE   DEATH   OF   GENERAL  WORTH. 

Q.  W.  CUTTEB. 

Now  let  the  solemn  minute  gun 

Arouse  the  morning  ray, 
And  only  with  the  setting  sun 

In  echoes  die  away. 
The  muffled  drum,  the  wailing  fife, 

Ah  !  let  them  murmur  low, 
O'er  him  who  was  their  breath  of  life, 

The  solemn  notes  of  woe  ! 

At  Chippewa  and  Lundy's  Lane, 

On  Polaklaba's  field, 
Around  him  fell  the  crimson  rain, 

The  battle-thunder  pealed ; 
But  proudly  did  the  soldier  gaze 

Upon  his  daring  form, 
When  charging  o'er  the  cannon's  blaze 

Amid  the  sulphur  storm. 

Upon  the  heights  of  Monterey 

Again  his  flag  unrolled, 
And  when  the  grape-shot  rent  away 

Its  latest  starry  fold, 
His  plumed  cap  above  his  head 

He  waved  upon  the  air, 
And  cheered  the  gallant  troops  he  led 

To  glorious  victory  there. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  143 

But  ah  !  the  dreadful  seal  is  broke — 

In  darkness  walks  abroad 
The  pestilence,  whose  silent  stroke 

Is  like  the  doom  of  God  ! 
And  the  hero  by  its  fell  decree 

In  death  is  sleeping  now, 
With  the  laurel  wreath  of  victory 

Still  green  upon  his  brow. 


BALAKLAVA. 

DEAN  TRENCH. 

MANY  a  deed  of  faithful  daring  may  obtain  no  record  here, 

Wrought  where  none  could  see  or  note  it,  save  the  one  Almighty  Seer. 

Many  a  deed  awhile  remembered,  out  of  memory  needs  must  fall, 
Covered,  as  the  years  roll  onward,  by  oblivion's  creeping  pall : 

But  there  are  which  never,  never  to  oblivion  can  give  room, 
Till  in  flame  earth's  records  perish,  till  the  thunder-peal  of  doom. 

And  of  these  through  all  the  ages  married  to  immortal  fame, 
One  is  linked,  and  linked  for  ever,  Balaklava,  with  thy  name — 

With  thine  armies  three  that  wondering  stood  at  gaze  and  held  their 

breath, 
With  thy  fatal  lists  of  honor,  and  thy  tournament  of  death. 

0  our  brothers  that  are  sleeping,  weary  with  your  great  day's  strife, 
On  that  bleak  Crimean  headland,  noble  prodigals  of  life — 

Eyes  which  ne'er  beheld  you  living,  these  have  dearly  mourned  you 

dead, 
All  your  squandered  wealth  of  valor,  all  the  lavish  blood  ye  shed. 

And  in  our  eyes  tears  are  springing,  but  we  bid  them  back  again ; 
None  shall  say,  to  see  us  weeping,  that  we  hold  your  offering  vain  : 

That  for  nothing,  in  our  sentence,  did  that  holocaust  arise, 
With  a  battle-field  for  altar,  and  with  you  for  sacrifice. 

Not  for  naught ;  to  more  than  warriors  armed  as  you  for  mortal  fray, 
Unto  each  that  in  life's  battle  waits  his  Captain's  word  ye  «ay  :— 

"What  by  duty's  voice  is  bidden,  there  where  duty's  star  may  guide, 
Thither  follow,  that  accomplish,  whatsoever  else  betide." 

This  ye  taught ;  and  this  your  lesson  solemnly  in  blood  ye  sealed : 
Heroes,  martyrs,  are  the  harvest  Balaklava's  heights  shall  yield. 


444          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

|  'H  TAN,  'H   'EIII  TAN. 

DEAN  TRENCH. 

"  THIS,  or  on  this!" — "  Bring  home  with  thee  this  shield, 

Or  be  thou,  dead,  upon  this  shield  brought  home  1" 

So  spake  the  Spartan  mother  to  the  son 

Whom  her  own  hands  had  armed.     0  strong  of  heart ! 

Yet  know  I  of  a  fairer  strength  than  this — 

Strength  linked  with  weakness,  steeped  in  tears  and  fears, 

And  tenderness  of  trembling  womanhood  ; 

But  true  as  hers  to  duty's  perfect  law. 

And  such  is  theirs  who  in  our  England  now, 
Wives,  sisters,  mothers,  watch  by  day,  by  night, 
In  many  a  cottage,  many  a  stately  hall, 
For  those  dread  posts,  too  slow,  too  swift,  that  haste 
O'er  land  and  sea,  the  messengers  of  doom ; 
Theirs,  who  ten  thousand  times  would  rather  hear 
Of  loved  forms  stretched  upon  the  bloody  sod, 
All  cold  and  stark,  but  with  the  debt  they  owed 
To  that  dear  land  that  bore  them  duly  paid, 
Than  look  to  enfold  them  in  fond  arms  again, 
By  aught  in  honor's  or  in  peril's  path 
Unduly  shunned,  reserved  for  that  embrace. 


MONTEEEY. 

C.  F.  HOFFMAN. 

WE  were  not  many — we  who  stood 
Before  the  iron  sleet  that  day — 
Yet  many  a  gallant  spirit  would 
Give  half  his  years  if  he  but  could 
Have  been  with  us  at  Monterey. 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  shot,  it  hailed 

In  deadly  drifts  of  fiery  spray, 
Yet  not  a  single  soldier  quailed 
When  wounded  comrades  round  them  wailed 

Their  dying  shout  at  Monterey. 

And  on — still  on  our  column  kept 

Through  walls  of  flame  its  withering  way ; 

Where  fell  the  dead,  the  living  stept, 

Still  charging  on  the  guns  that  swept 
The  slippery  streets  of  Monterey. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  445 

The  foe  himself  recoiled  aghast, 

When,  striking  where  he  strongest  lay, 
We  swooped  his  flanking  batteries  past, 
And  braving  full  their  murderous  blast, 

Stormed  home  the  towers  of  Monterey. 

Our  banners  on  those  turrets  wave, 

And  there  our  evening  bugles  play  ; 
Where  orange  boughs  above  their  grave 
Keep  green  the  memory  of  the  brave 

Who  fought  and  fell  at  Monterey. 

We  are  not  many — we  who  pressed 

Beside  the  brave  who  fell  that  day  ; 
But  who  of  us  has  not  confessed 
He'd  rather  share  their  warrior  rest, 

Than  not  have  been  at  Monterey  ? 


THE   BRIGADE   AT   FONTENOY. 

BARTHOLOMEW  DOWUNO. 
BY  our  camp  fires  rose  a  murmur, 

At  the  dawning  of  the  day, 
And  the  tread  of  many  footsteps 

Spoke  the  advent  of  the  fray  ; 
And  as  we  took  our  places, 

Few  and  stern  were  our  words, 
While  some  were  tightening  horse-girths, 

And  some  were  girding  swords. 

The  trumpet  blast  has  sounded 

Our  footmen  to  array — • 
The  willing  steed  has  bounded, 

Impatient  for  the  fray — 
\         The  green  flag  is  unfolded, 

While  rose  the  cry  of  joy — 
"  Heaven  speed  dear  Ireland's  banner 

To-day  at  Fontenoy." 

We  looked  upon  that  banner, 

And  the  memory  arose 
Of  our  homes  and  perished  kindred, 

Where  the  Lee  or  Shannon  flows  ; 
38 


446  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

We  looked  upon  that  banner, 

And  we  swore  to  God  on  high, 
To  smite  to-day  the  Saxon's  might — 

To  conquer  or  to  die. 

Loud  swells  the  charging  trumpet — 

'Tis  a  voice  from  our  own  land — 
God  of  battles — God  of  vengeance, 

Guide  to-day  the  patriot's  brand  ; 
There  are  stains  to  wash  away — 

There  are  memories  to  destroy, 
In  the  best  blood  of  the  Briton 

To-day  at  Fontenoy. 

Plunge  deep  the  fiery  rowels 
In  a  thousand  reeking  flanks — 

Down,  chivalry  of  Ireland, 
Down  on  the  British  ranks — 

Now  shall  their  serried  columns 
Beneath  our  sabres  reel — 

Through  their  ranks,  then,  with  the  war-horse- 
Through  their  bosoms  with  the  steel. 

With  one  shout  for  good  King  Louis, 

And  the  fair  land  of  the  vine, 
Like  the  wrathful  Alpine  tempest, 

We  swept  upon  their  line — 
Then  rang  along  the  battle-field 

Triumphant  our  hurrah, 
And  we  smote  them  down,  still  cheering 

"  JErin,  slanthagal  go  bragh." 

As  prized  as  is  the  blessing 

From  an  aged  father's  lip — 
As  welcome  as  the  haven 

To  the  tempest-driven  ship — 
As  dear  as  to  the  lover 

The  smile  of  gentle  maid — 
Is  this  day  of  long-sought  vengeance 

To  the  swords  of  the  Brigade. 

See  their  shattered  forces  flying, 

A  broken,  routed  line — 
See  England,  what  brave  laurels 

For  your  brow  to-day  we  twine. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  447 

0,  thrice  blessed  the  hour  that  witnessed 

The  Briton  turn  to  flee 
From  the  chivalry  of  Erin, 

And  France's  "fleur  de  Us." 

As  we  lay  beside  our  camp-fires, 

When  the  sun  had  passed  away, 
And  thought  upon  our  brethren, 

Who  had  perished  in  the  fray — 
We  prayed  to  God  to  grant  us, 

And  then  we'd  die  with  joy, 
One  day  upon  our  own  dear  land 

Like  this  of  Fontenoy. 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   DEAD. 

L.  B.  LANDON. 
in  the  battle-field,  and  the  cold  pale  moon 

Looked  down  on  the  dead  and  dying ; 
And  the  wind  passed  o'er  with  a  dirge  and  a  wail, 
Where  the  young  and  brave  were  lying. 

With  his  father's  sword  in  his  red  right  hand, 

And  the  hostile  dead  around  him, 
Lay  a  youthful  chief:  but  his  bed  was  the  ground, 

And  the  grave's  icy  sleep  had  bound  him. 

A  reckless  rover,  'mid  death  and  doom, 

Passed  a  soldier,  his  plunder  seeking. 
Careless  he  stept,  where  friend  and  foe 

Lay  alike  in  their  life-blood  reeking. 

Drawn  by  the  shine  of  the  warrior's  sword, 

The  soldier  paused  beside  it : 
He  wrenched  the  hand  with  a  giant's  strength, 

But  the  grasp  of  the  dead  defied  it. 

He  loosed  his  hold,  and  his  English  heart 

Took  part  with  the  dead  before  him  ; 
And  he  honored  the  brave  who  died  sword  in  hand, 

As  with  softened  brow  he  leant  o'er  him. 

"  A  soldier's  death  thou  hast  boldly  died, 

A* soldier's  grave  won  by  it: 
Before  I  would  take  that  sword  from  thine  hand, 

My  own  life's  blood  should  dye  it. 


448          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Thou  shalt  not  be  left  for  the  carrion  crow, 
Or  the  wolf  to  batten  o'er  thee ; 

Or  the  coward  insult  the  gallant  dead, 
Who  in  life  had  trembled  before  thee." 

Then  dug  he  a  grave  in  the  crimson  earth, 
Where  his  warrior  foe  was  sleeping ; 

And  he  laid  him  there  in  honor  and  rest, 
With  his  sword  in  his  own  brave  keeping ! 


IMAGE   OF   WAR. 

LORD  BYRON. 

HARK  !  heard  you  not  those  hoofs  of  dreadful  note  ? 
Sounds  not  the  clang  of  conflict  on  the  heath  ? 
Saw  ye  not  whom  the  reeking  sabre  smote ; 
Nor  saved  your  brethren  ere  they  sank  beneath 
Tyrants  and  tyrants'  slaves? — the  fires  of  death, 
The  bale-fires  flash  on  high ; — from  rock  to  rock 
Each  volley  tells  that  thousands  cease  to  breathe ; 
Death  rides  upon  the  sulphury  Siroc, 
Red  Battle  stamps  his  foot,  and  nations  feel  the  shock. 

Lo !  where  the  giant  on  the  mountain  stands, 
His  blood-red  tresses  deepening  in  the  sun, 
With  death-shot  glowing  in  his  fiery  hands, 
And  eye  that  scorcheth  all  it  glares  upon. 
Restless  it  rolls,  now  fixed,  and  now  anon 
Flashing  afar — and  at  his  iron  feet 
Destruction  cowers  to  mark  what  deeds  are  done  ; 
For  on  this  morn  three  potent  nations  meet, 
To  shed  before  his  shrine  the  blood  he  deems  most  sweet. 

From  «  Childe  Harold." 


WIT  AND  HUMOK,  IN  VERSE. 


THE   HEIGHT   OF   THE   KIDICULOUS. 

Ho 
I  WROTE  some  lines  once  on  a  time 

In  wondrous  merry  mood, 
And  thought,  as  usual,  men  would  say 
They  were  exceeding  good. 

They  were  so  queer,  so  very  queer, 

I  laughed  as  I  would  die ; 
Albeit,  in  the  general  way, 

A  sober  man  am  I. 

I  called  my  servant,  and  he  came ; 

How  kind  it  was  of  him, 
To  mind  a  slender  man  like  me, 

He  of  the  mighty  limb  ! 

"  These  to  the  printer,"  I  exclaimed, 

And,  in  my  humorous  way, 
I  added,  (as  a  trifling  jest,) 

"  There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay/' 

He  took  the  paper,  and  I  watched, 

And  saw  him  peep  within ; 
At  the  first  line  he  read,  his  face 

Was  all  upon  the  grin. 

He  read  the  next ;  the  grin  grew  broad, 

And  shot  from  ear  to  ear ; 
He  read  the  third ;  a  chuckling  noise 

I  now  began  to  hear. 

The  fourth  ;  he  broke  into  a  roar ; 

The  fifth  ;  his  waistband  split ; 
The  sixth  ;  he  burst  five  buttons  off, 

And  tumbled  in  a  fit. 
38*  2F  (449) 


450  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Ten  days  and  nights,  with  sleepless  eye, 
I  watched  that  wretched  man, 

And  since,  I  never  dare  to  write 
As  funny  as  I  can. 


NUX   POSTC(EXATICA. 

HOLMES. 
I  WAS  sitting  with  my  microscope,  upon  my  parlor  rug, 

NWith  a  very  heavy  quarto  and  a  very  lively  bug; 
The  true  bug  had  been  organized  with  only  two  antennae, 
But  the  humbug  in  the  copperplate  would  have  them  twice  as  many. 

And  I  thought,  like  Dr.  Faustus,  of  the  emptiness  of  art, 
How  we  take  a  fragment  for  the  whole,  and  call  the  whole  a  part, 
When  I  heard  a  heavy  footstep  that  was  loud  enough  for  two, 
And  a  man  of  forty  entered,  exclaiming, — "  How  d'ye  do?" 

He  was  not  a  ghost,  my  visiter,  but  solid  flesh  and  bone ; 
He  wore  a  Palo  Alto  hat,  his  weight  was  twenty  stone ; 
(It's  odd  how  hats  expand  their  brims  as  riper  years  invade, 
As  if  when  life  had  reached  its  noon,  it  wanted  them  for  shade !) 

I  lost  my  focus, — dropped  my  book, — the  bug,  who  was  a  flea, 
At  once  exploded,  and  commenced  experiments  on  me. 
They  have  a  certain  heartiness  that  frequently  appals, — 
Those  mediaeval  gentlemen  in  semilunar  smalls ! 

"My  boy,"  he  said — (colloquial  ways, — the  vast,  broad-hatted  man,) 
"  Come  dine  with  us  on  Thursday  next, — you  must,  you  know  you  can ; 
We're  going  to  have  a  roaring  time,  with  lots  of  fun  and  noise, 
Distinguished  guests,  et  cetera,  the  Judge,  and  all  the  boys." 

Not  so, — I  said, — my  temporal  bones  are  showing  pretty  clear 
It's  time  to  stop, — -just  look  and  see  that  hair  above  this  ear; 
My  golden  days  are  more  than  spent, — and,  what  is  very  strange, 
If  these  are  real  silver  hairs,  I'm  getting  lots  of  change. 

Besides — my  prospects — don't  you  know  that  people  won't  employ 
A  man  that  wrongs  his  manliness  by  laughing  like  a  boy  ? 
And  suspect  the  azure  blossom  that  unfolds  upon  a  shoot, 
As  if  wisdom's  old  potato  could  not  flourish  at  its  root ! 

If  s  a  very  fine  reflection,  when  you're  etching  out  a  smile 
On  a  copperplate  of  faces  that  would  stretch' at  least  a  mile, 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  451 

That,  what  with  sneers  from  enemies,  and  cheapening  shrugs  of  friends, 
It  will  cost  you  all  the  earnings  that  a  month  of  labor  lends ! 

It's  a  vastly  pleasing  prospect,  when  you're  screwing  out  a  laugh 
That  your  very  next  year's  income  is  diminished  by  a  half, 
And  a  little  boy  trips  barefoot  that  Pegasus  may  go, 
And  the  baby's  milk  is  watered"  that  your  Helicon  may  flow ! 

No  ; — the  joke  has  been  a  good  one, — but  I'm  getting  fond  of  quiet, 
And  I  don't  like  deviations  from  my  customary  diet; 
So  I  think  I  will  not  go  with  you  to  hear  the  toasts  and  speeches, 
But  stick  to  old  Montgomery  Place,  and  have  some  pig  and  peaches. 

The  fat  man  answered: — Shut  your  mouth,  and  hear  the  genuine  creed; 
The  true  essentials  of  a  feast  are  only  fun  and  feed ; 
The  force  that  wheels  the  planets  round  delights  in  spinning  tops, 
And  that  young  earthquake  t'other  day  was  great  at  shaking  props. 

I  tell  you  what,  philosopher,  if  all  the  longest  heads 
That  ever  knocked  their  sinciputs  in  stretching  on  their  beds. 
Were  round  one  great  mahogany,  I'd  beat  those  fine  old  folks 
With  twenty  dishes,  twenty  fools,  and  twenty  clever  jokes! 

Why,  if  Columbus  should  be  there,  the  company  would  beg 
He'd  show  that  little  trick  of  his  of  balancing  the  egg ! 
Milton  to  Stilton  would  give  in,  and  Solomon  to  Salmon, 
And  Roger  Bacon  be  a  bore,  and  Francis  Bacon  gammon ! 

And  as  for  all  the  "  patronage"  of  all  the  clowns  and  boors 
That  squint  their  little  narrow  eyes  at  any  freak  of  yours, 
Do  leave  them  to  your  prosier  friends, — such  fellows  ought  to  die 
When  rhubarb  is  so  very  scarce  and  ipecac  so  high  ! 

And  so  I  come, — like  Lochinvar,  to  tread  a  single  measure, 
To  purchase  with  a  loaf  of  bread  a  sugar-plum  of  pleasure, 
To  enter  for  the  cup  of  glass  that's  run  for  after  dinner, 
Which  yields  a  single  sparkling  draught,  then  breaks  and  cuts  the 
winner. 

Ah,  that's  the  way  delusion  comes, — a  glass  of  old  Madeira, 
A  pair  of  visual  diaphragms  revolved  by  Jane  or  Sarah, 
And  down  go  vows  and  promises  without  the  slightest  question 
If  eating  words  won't  compromise  the  organs  of  digestion ! 

And  yet,  among  my  native  shades,  beside  my  nursing  mother, 
Where  every  stranger  seems  a  friend,  and  every  friend  a  brother, 


452          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

I  feel  the  old  convivial  glow  (unaided)  o'er  me  stealing, — 
The  warm,  champagny,  old-particular,  brandy-punchy  feeling. 

We're  all  alike ; — Vesuvius  flings  the  scoriae  from  his  fountain, 
But  down  they  come  in  volleying  rain  back  to  the  burning  mountain ; 
We  leave,  like  those  volcanic  stones,  our  precious  Alma  Mater, 
But  will  keep  dropping  in  again  to  see  the  dear  old  crater. 


AMERICAN   GENIUS. 

PlEBPONT. 

THE  Yankee-boy,  before  he's  sent  to  school, 
Well  knows  the  mysteries  of  that  magic  tool, 
The  pocket-knife.     To  that  his  wistful  eye 
Turns,  while  he  hears  his  mother's  lullaby ; 
His  hoarded  cents  he  gladly  gives  to  get  it, 
Then  leaves  no  stone  unturned  till  he  can  whet  it 
And,  in  the  education  of  the  lad, 
No  little  part  that  implement  hath  had — 
His  pocket-knife  to  the  young  whittler  brings 
A  growing  knowledge  of  material  things. 

Projectiles,  music,  and  the  sculptor's  art, 

His  chestnut  whistle,  and  his  shingle  dart, 

His  elder  pop-gun,  with  his  hickory  rod, 

Its  sharp  explosion  and  rebounding  wad, 

His  corn-stalk  fiddle,  and  the  deeper  tone 

That  murmurs  from  his  pumpkin-stalk  trombone, 

Conspire  to  teach  the  boy.     To  these  succeed 

His  bow,  his  arrow  of  a  feathered  reed, 

His  wind-mill,  raised  the  passing  breeze  to  win, 

His  water-wheel,  that  turns  upon  a  pin  ; 

Or,  if  his  father  lives  upon  the  shore, 

You'll  see  his  ship,  "  beam-ends  upon  the  floor," 

Full-rigged,  with  raking  masts,  and  timbers  staunch, 

And  waiting,  near  the  wash-tub,  for  a  launch. 

Thus,  by  his  genius  and  his  jack-knife  driven, 

Ere  long  he'll  solve  you  any  problem  given  ; 

Make  any  jim-crack,  musical  or  mute, 

A  plough,  a  coach,  an  organ,  or  a  flute ; 

Make  you  a"  locomotive  or  a  clock, 

Cut  a  canal,  or  build  a  floating-dock, 

Or  lead  forth  Beauty  from  a  marble-block  ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  453 

Make  any  thing,  in  short,  for  sea  or  shore, 
From  a  child's  rattle  to  a  seventy-four ; 
Make  it,  said  I  ? — Ay,  when  he  undertakes  it, 
He'll  make  the  thing  and  the  machine  that  makes  it. 

And  when  the  thing  is  made,  whether  it  be 
To  move  in  earth,  in  air,  or  on  the  sea ; 
Whether  on  water,  o'er  the  waves  to  glisten, 
Or  upon  land  to  roll,  revolve,  or  slide ; 
Whether  to  whirl,  or  jar,  to  strike,  or  ring; 
Whether  it  be  a  piston  or  a  spring, 
Wheel,  pull^,  tube  sonorous,  wood,  or  brass, 
The  thing  designed  shall  surely  come  to  pass  ; 
For,  when  his  hand's  upon  it,  you  may  know 
That  there's  go  in  it,  and  he'll  make  it  go. 


FASHION. 

SAXE. 

IN  closest  girdle,  0  reluctant  Muse, 
In  scantiest  skirts,  and  lightest-stepping  shoes, 
Prepare  to  follow  Fashion's  gay  advance, 
And  thread  the  mazes  of  her  motley  dance ; 
And  marking  well  each  momentary  hue, 
And  transient  form,  that  meets  the  wondering  view, 
In  kindred  colors,  gentle  Muse,  essay 
Her  Protean  phases  fitly  to  portray. 
To-day  she'  slowly  drags  a  cumbrous  trail, 
And  "  Tom"  rejoices  in  its  length  of  tail ; 
To-morrow,  changing  her  capricious  sport, 
She  trims  her  flounces  just  as  much  too  short; 
To-day,  right  jauntily,  a  hat  she  wears 
That  scarce  affords  a  shelter  to  her  ears ; 
To-morrow,  haply,  searching  long  in  vain, 
You  spy  her  features  down  a  Leghorn  lane ; 
To-day,  she  glides  along  with  queenly  grace, 
To-morrow,  ambles  in  a  mincing  pace  ; 
To-day,  erect,  she  loves  a  martial  air, 
And  envious  train-bands  emulate  the  fair ; 
To-morrow,  changing  as  her  whim  may  serve, 
"  She  stoops  to  conquer"  in  a  "Grecian  curve ;" 
To-day,  with  careful  negligence  arrayed, 
In  scanty  folds  of  woven  zephyrs  made, 


454  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

She  moves  like  Dian  in  her  woody  bowers, 
Or  Flora  floating  o'er  a  bed  of  flowers ; 
To-morrow,  laden  with  a  motley  freight 
Of  startling  bulk  and  formidable  weight, 
She  waddles  forth,  ambitious  to  amaze 
The  vulgar  crowd,  who  giggle  as  they  gaze  1 


NO! 

THOMAS  HOOD. 

No  sun — no  moon  ! 

No  morn — no  noon — 
No  dawn — no  dusk — no  proper  time  of  day — 

No  sky — no  earthly  view — 

No  distance  looking  blue — 
No  road — no  street — no  "  t'other  side  the  way"— 

No  end  to  any  Row — 

No  indications  where  the  Crescents  go— 

No  top  to  any  steeple — 
No  recognitions  of  familiar  people — 

No  courtesies  for  showing  'em — 

No  knowing  'em ! 

No  travelling  at  all — no  locomotion, 
No  inkling  of  the  way — no  notion — 

"  No  go" — by  land  or  ocean — 

No  mail — no  post — 

No  news  from  any  foreign  coast — 
No  park — no  ring — no  afternoon  gentility — 

No  company — no  nobility — 
No  warmth,  no  cheerfulness,  no  healthful  ease, 

No  comfortable  feel  in  any  member — 
No  shade,  no  shine,  no  butterflies,  no  bees, 
No  fruits,  no  flowers,  no  leaves,  no  birds, 

November ! 


THE   DONKEY  AND   HIS  PANNIERS. 

THOMAS  Mooni. 

A  DONKEY  whose  talent  for  burden  was  wondrous, 

So  much  that  you'd  swear  he  rejoiced  in  a  load, 

One  day  had  to  jog  under  panniers  so  pond'rous, 

That — down  the  poor  donkey  fell,  smack  on  the  road. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  45f> 

His  owners  and  drivers  stood  round  in  amaze — 
What !  Neddy,  the  patient,  the  prosperous  Neddy, 

So  easy  to  drive  through  the  dirtiest  ways, 
For  every  description  of  job-work  so  ready  ! 

One  driver  (whom  Ned  might  have  "hailed"  as  a  "brother") 
Had  just  been  proclaiming  his  donkey's  renown, 

For  vigor,  for  spirit,  for  one  thing  or  other — 

When,  lo !  'mid  his  praises,  the  donkey  came  down. 

But,  how  to  upraise  him  ? — one  shouts,  t'other  whistles, 

While  Jenky,  the  conjurer,  wisest  of  all, 
Declared  that  an  "  over-production"  of  thistles — 

(Here  Ned  gave  a  stare) — was  the  cause  of  his  fall. 

Another  wise  Solomon  cries,  as  he  passes — 

"  There,  let  him  alone,  and  the  fit  will  soon  cease ; 

The  beast  has  been  fighting  with  other  jack-asses, 
And  this  is  his  mode  of  '  transition  to  peace.' " 

Some  looked  at  his  hoofs,  and,  with  learned  grimaces, 
Pronounced  that  too  long  without  shoes  he  had  gone — 

"  Let  the  blacksmith  provide  him  a  sound  metal  basis 
(The  wiseacres  said),  and  he's  sure  to  jog  on." 

But  others  who  gabbled  a  jargon  half  Gaelic, 

Exclaimed,  "  Hoot  awa,  mon,  you're  a'  gane  astray" 

And  declared  that  "  whoe'er  might  prefer  the  metallic, 
They'd  shoe  their  own  donkeys  with  papier  mach£." 

Meanwhile  the  poor  Neddy,  in  torture  and  fear, 

Lay  under  his  panniers,  scarce  able  to  groan, 
And,  what  was  still  dolefuler — lending  an  ear 

To  advisers  whose  ears  were  a  match  for  his  own. 

At  length,  a  plain  rustic,  whose  wit  went  so  far 
As  to  see  others'  folly,  roared  out  as  he  passed — 

"  Quick — off  with  the  panniers,  all  dolts  as  ye  are, 
Or  your  prosperous  Neddy  will  soon  kick  his  last." 


456  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

CARDINAL  WOLSEY. 

ANONYMOUS 
CARDINAL  WOLSEY  was  a  man 

Of  an  unbounded  stomach,  Shakspeare  says, 
Meaning  (in  metaphor),  for  ever  puffing, 
To  swell  beyond  his  size  and  span ; 

But  had  he  seen  a  player  in  our  days 
Enacting  Falstaff  without  stuffing, 
He  would  have  owned  that  Wolsey's  bulk  ideal 

Equalled  not  that  within  the  bounds, 

This  actor's 'belt  surrounds, 
Which  is,  moreover,  all  alive  and  real. 

This  player,  when  the  peace  enabled  shoals 

Of  our  odd  fishes 

To  visit  every  clime  between  the  poles, 
Swam  with  the  stream,  a  histrionic  Krakeu, 

Although  his  wishes 

Must  not,  in  this  proceeding,  be  mistaken ; 
For  he  went  out  professionally, — bent 
To  see  how  money  might  be  made,  not  spent. 

In  this  most  laudable  employ 

He  found  himself  at  Lille  one  afternoon, 
And,  that  he  might  the  breeze  enjoy, 

And  catch  a  peep  at  the  ascending  moon, 
Out  of  the  town  he  took  a  stroll, 
Refreshing  in  the  fields  his  soul, 
With  sight  of  streams,  and  trees,  and  snowy  fleeces, 
And  thoughts  of  crowded  houses  and  new  pieces. 

When  we  are  pleasantly  employed  time  flies : — 
He  counted  up  his  profits,  in  the  skies, 

Until  the  moon  began  to  shine ; 
On  which  he  gazed  a  while,  and  then 

Pulled  out  his  watch,  and  cried — "  Past  ninel 
Why,  zounds !  they  shut  the  gates  at  ten." — 

Backward  he  turned  his  steps  instanler, 

Stumping  along  with  might  and  main, 

And,  though  'tis  plain 
He  couldn't  gallop,  trot,  or  canter, 

(Those  who  had  seen  him  would  confess  it),  he 

Marched  well  for  one  of  such  obesity. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  457 

Eying  his  watch,  and  now  his  forehead  mopping, 

He  puffed  and  blew  along  the  road, 
Afraid  of  melting,  more  afraid  of  stopping, 

When  in  his  path  he  met  a  clown 

Returning  from  the  town. 
"Tell  me,"  he  panted  in  a  thawing  state, 
"Dost  think  I  can  get  in,  friend,  at  the  gate?" 

"Get  ini"  replied  the  hesitating  loon, 
Measuring  with  his  eye  bur  bulky  wight, 
"  Why — yes,  sir, — I  should  think  you  might ; 

A  load  of  hay  went  in  this  afternoon." 


SCHOOL   AND   SCHOOL-FELLOWS. 

PBAED. 

TWELVE  years  ago  I  made  a  mock 

Of  filthy  trades  and  traffics : 
I  wondered  what  they  meant  by  stock  ; 

I  wrote  delightful  sapphics  : 
I  knew  the  streets  of  Rome  and  Troy, 

I  supped  with  fates  and  furies  ; 
Twelve  years  ago  I  was  a  boy, 

A  happy  boy,  at  Drury's. 

Twelve  years  ago  ! — how  many  a  thought 

Of  faded  paints  and  pleasures 
Those  whispered  syllables  have  brought 

From  memory's  hoarded  treasures ! 
The  fields,  the  forms,  the  beasts,  the  books, 

The  glories  and  disgraces, 
The  voices  of  dear  friends,  the  looks 

Of  old  familiar  faces. 

Where  are  my  friends  ? — I  am  alone, 

No  playmate  shares  my  beaker — 
Some  lie  beneath  the  church-yard  stone, 

And  some  before  the  speaker ; 
And  some  compose  a  tragedy, 

And  some  compose  a  rondo ; 
And  some  draw  sword  for  liberty, 

And  some  draw  pleas  for  John  Doe. 

Tom  Mill  was  used  to  blacken  eyes, 

Without  the  fear  of  sessions  : 
39 


458  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Charles  Medler  loathed  false  quantities, 
As  much  as  false  professions ; 

Now  Mill  keeps  order  in  the  land, 
A  magistrate  pedantic ; 

And  Medler's  feet  repose  imscanned, 
Beneath  the  wide  Atlantic. 

While  Nick,  whose  oaths  made  such  a  din, 

Does  Dr.  Martext's  duty  ; 
And  Mullion,  with  that  monstrous  chin, 

Is  married  to  a  beauty  ; 
And  Darrel  studies,  week  by  week, 

His  Mant  and  not  his  Manton  ; 
And  Ball,  wlio  was  but  poor  at  Greek, 

Is  very  rich  at  Canton. 

And  I  am  eight-and-twenty  now — 

The  world's  cold  chain  has  bound  me ; 
And  darker  shades  are  on  my  brow, 

And  sadder  scenes  around  me  : 
In  parliament  I  fill  my  seat, 

With  many  other  noodles  ; 
And  lay  my  head  in  Germyn-street, 

And  sip  my  hock  at  Doodle's. 

But  oft  when  the  cares  of  life 

Have  set  my  temples  aching, 
When  visions  haunt  me  of  a  wife, 

When  duns  await  my  waking, 
When  Lady  Jane  is  in  a  pet, 

Or  Hobby  in  a  hurry, 
When  Captain  Hazard  wins  a  bet, 

Or  Beaulieu  spoils  a  ctfrry : 

For  hours  and  hours,  I  think  and  talk 

Of  each  remembered  hobby  ; 
I  long  to  lounge  in  Poet's  Walk — 

To  shiver  in  the  lobby  ; 
I  wish  that  I  could  run  away 

From  house,  and  court,  and  levee, 
Where  bearded  men  appear  to-day, 

Just  Eton  boys,  grown  heavy ; 

That  I  could  bask  in  childhood's  sun, 
And  dance  o'er  childhood's  roses  ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  459 

And  find  huge  wealth  in  one  pound  one, 

Vast  wit  and  broken  noses  ; 
And  pray  Sir  Giles  at  Datchet  Lane, 

And  call  the  milk-maids  Houris  ; 
That  I  could  be  a  boy  again —  • 

A  happy  boy  at  Drury's ! 


THE    EUSH  OF   THE   TEAIN. 

ANONYMOUS. 

THROUGH  the  mould  and  through  the  clay, 
Through  the  corn  and  through  the  hay, 
By  the  margin  of  the  lake, 
O'er  the  river  and  through  the  brake, 
O'er  the  bleak  and  dreary  moor, 
On  we  hie  with  screech  and  roar : 

Splashing,  flashing, 

Crashing,  dashing 

Over  ridges, 

Gulleys,  bridges ; 

By  the  bubbling  rill, 

And  mill, 

Highways, 

Byways, 

Hollow  hill : 

Jumping,  bumping, 

Rocking,  roaring, 
Like  forty  thousand  giants  snoring  I 

O'er  the  aqueduct  and  bog 
On  we  fly  with  ceaseless  jog, 
Every  instant  something  new, 
Every  moment  lost  to  view ; 
Now  a  tavern,  now  a  steeple, 
Now  a  crowd  of  gaping  people ; 
Now  a  hollow,  now  a  ridge, 
Now  a  cross-way,  now  a  bridge. 

Grumble,  stumble, 

Rumble,  tumble ; 

Fretting — getting  in  a  stew : 

Church  and  steeple,  gaping  people, 

Quick  as  thought  are  lost  to  view. 


460          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Everything  that  eye  can  survey 
Turns  hurly-burly,  topsy-turvy. 
Glimpse  of  lonely  hut  and  mansion, 
Glimpse  of  ocean's  wide  expansion, 
Glimpse  of  foundry  and  of  forge, 
Glimpse  of  plain  and  mountain  gorge — 

Dash  along ! 

Slash  along ! 

Crash  along ! 

Flash  along ! 

On— on  with  a  jump, 

And  a  bump, 

And  a  roll, 
Hies  the  Fire-Fiend  to  its  destined  goal. 


SAYING  NOT   MEANING. 

W. 

Two  gentlemen  their  appetite  had  fed, 

When  opening  his  toothpick-case,  one  said, 

"  It  was  not  until  lately  that  I  knew 

That  anchovies  on  terra  firma  grew." 

"Grow  I"  cried  the  other,  "yes,  they  grow,  indeed, 

Like  other  fish,  but  not  upon  the  land  ; 
You  might  as  well  say  grapes  grow  on  a  reed, 

Or  in  the  Strand  1" 


"  Why,  sir,"  returned  the  irritated  other, 

"  My  brother, 
When  at  Calcutta 
Beheld  them  bond  fide  growing  ; 

He  wouldn't  utter 
A  lie  for  love  or  money,  sir  ;  so  in 

This  matter  you  are  thoroughly  mistaken." 
"  Nonsense,  sir  !  nonsense  !     I  can  give  no  credit 
To  the  assertion  —  none  e'er  saw  or  read  it  ; 
Your  brother,  like  his  evidence,  should  be  shaken." 

"  Be  shaken,  sir  !  let  me  observe,  you  are 

Perverse  —  in  short  —  " 
"  Sir,"  said  the  other,  sucking  his  cigar, 

And  then  his  port  — 
"  If  you  will  say  impossibles  are  true, 

You  may  affirm  just  anything  you  please— 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  461 

That  swans  are  quadrupeds,  and  lions  blue, 

And  elephants  inhabit  Stilton  cheese ! 
Only  you  must  not  force  me  to  believe 
What's  propagated  merely  to  deceive." 

"  Then  you  force  me  to  say,  sir,  you're  a  fool/' 

Returned  the  bragger. 
Language  like  this  no  man  can  suffer  cool : 

It  made  the  listener  stagger ; 
So,  thunder-stricken,  he  at  once  replied, 

"  The  traveller  lied 

Who  had  the  impudence  to  tell  it  you ;" 
"  Zounds  !  then  d'ye  mean  to  swear  before  my  face 
That  anchovies  don't  grow  like  cloves  and  mace  ?" 

"  I  do  !" 

Disputants  often  after  hot  debates 
Leave  the  contention  as  they  found  it — bone, 

And  take  to  duelling  or  thumping  tdtes  ; 
Thinking  by  strength  of  artery  to  atone 

For  strength  of  argument ;  and  he  who  winces 

From  force  of  words,  with  force  of  arms  convinces ! 

With  pistols,  powder,  bullets,  surgeons,  lint, 

Seconds,  and  smelling-bottles,  and  foreboding, 

Our  friends  advanced  ;  and  now  portentous  loading 
(Their  hearts  already  loaded)  served  to  show 
It  might  be  better  they  shook  hands — but  no ; 

When  each  opines  himself,  though  frightened,  right, 

Each  is,  in  courtesy,  obliged  to  fight ! 
And  they  did  fight :  from  six  full  measured  paces 

The  unbeliever  pulled  his  trigger  first ; 
And  fearing,  from  the  braggart's  ugly  faces, 

The  whizzing  lead  had  whizzed  its  very  worst, 
Ran  up,  and  with  a  duelistic  fear 

(His  ire  evanishing  like  morning  vapors), 
Found  him  possessed  of  one  remaining  ear, 

Who  in  a  manner  sudden  and  uncouth, 

Had  given,  not  lent,  the  other  ear  to  truth ; 
For  while  the  surgeon  was  applying  lint, 
He,  wriggling,  cried — "  The  deuce  is  in't — 

Sir !  I  meant — CAPERS  !" 
39* 


462          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


AN   ECHO. 

ANONTMOUJB. 

NEVER  sleeping,  still  awake, 
Pleasing  most  when  most  I  speak ; 
The  delight  of  old  and  young, 
Though  I  speak  without  a  tongue. 
Nought  but  one  thing  can  confound  me, 
Many  voices  joining  round  me  ; 
Then  I  fret,  and  rave,  and  gabble, 
Like  the  laborers  of  Babel. 
Now  I  am  a  dog,  or  cow, 
I  can  bark,  or  I  can  low ; 
I  can  bleat,  or  I  can  sing, 
Like  the  warblers  of  the  spring. 
Let  the  love-sick  bard  complain, 
And  I  mourn  the  cruel  pain ; 
Let  the  happy  swain  rejoice, 
And  I  join  my  helping  voice : 
Both  are  welcome,  grief  or  joy, 
I  with  either  sport  and  toy. 
Though  a  lady,  I  am  stout, 
Drums  and  trumpets  bring  me  out : 
Then  I  clash,  and  roar,  and  rattle, 
Join  in  all  the  din  of  battle. 
Jove,  with  all  his  loudest  thunder, 
When  I'm  vexed  can't  keep  me  under ; 
Yet  so  tender  is  my  ear, 
That  the  lowest  voice  I  fear ; 
Much  I  dread  the  courtier's  fate, 
When  his  merit's  out  of  date, 
For  I  hate  a  silent  breath, 
And  a  whisper  is  my  death. 


ON  FACTOTUM   NED. 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

HERE  lies  Factotum  Ned  at  last : 

Long  as  he  breathed  the  vital  air, 
Nothing  throughout  all  Europe  passed 

In  which  he  hadn't  some  small  share. 

Whoe'er  was  in,  whoe'er  was  out — 
Whatever  statesmen  did  or  said — 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  463 

If  not  exactly  brought  about, 

Was  all,  at  least,  contrived  by  Ned. 

With  Nap  if  Russia  went  to  war, 

'Twas  owing,  under  Providence, 
To  certain  hints  Ned  gave  the  Czar — 

(  Vide  his  pamphlet — price  six  pence). 

If  France  was  beat  at  Waterloo — 

As  all,  but  Frenchmen,  think  she  was — 

To  Ned,  as  Wellington  well  knew, 
Was  owing  half  that  day's  applause. 

Then  for  his  news — no  envoy's  bag 
E'er  passed  so  many  secrets  through  it — 

Scarcely  a  telegraph  could  wag 

Its  wooden  finger,  but  Ned  knew  it. 

Such  tales  he  had  of  foreign  plots, 

With  foreign  names  one's  ear  to  buzz  in — 

From  Russia  chefs  and  ofs  in  lots, 
From  Poland  owskis  by  the  dozen. 

When  George,  alarmed  for  England's  creed, 

Turned  out  the  last  Whig  ministry, 
And  men  asked — who  advised  the  deed  ? 

Ned  modestly  confessed  'twas  he.  • 

For  though,  by  some  unlucky  miss, 

He  had  not  downright  seen  the  King, 
He  sent  such  hints  through  Viscount  This, 

To  Marquis  That,  as  clenched  the  thing. 

The  same  it  was  in  science,  arts, 

The  drama,  books,  MS.  and  printed — 
Kean  learned  from  Ned  his  cleverest  parts, 

And  Scott's  last  work  by  him  was  hinted. 

Childe  Harold  in  the  proofs  he  read, 

And,  here  and  there,  infused  some  soul  in't^— 

Nay,  Davy's  lamp,  till  seen  by  Ned, 

Had — odd  enough — a  dangerous  hole  in't. 

;Twas  thus,  all  doing  and  all  knowing, 
Wit,  statesman,  boxer,  chemist,  singer, 


464  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Whatever  was  the  best  pie  going, 
In  lliat  Ned — trust  him — had  his  finger. 


THE    LOBSTERS. 

PUNCH 

As  a  young  Lobster  roamed  about, 

Itself  and  mother  being  out, 

Their  eyes  at  the  same  moment  fell 

On  a  boiled  lobster's  scarlet  shell. 

"  Look,"  said  the  younger ;  "  is  ic  true 

That  we  might  wear  so  bright  a  hue  ? 

No  coral,  if  I  trust  mine  eye, 

Can  with  its  startling  brilliance  vie ; 

While  you  and  I  must  be  content 

A  dingy  aspect  to  present." 

"  Proud  heedless  fool,"  the  parent  cried  ; 

"  Know'st  thou  the  penalty  of  pride  ? 

The  tawdry  finery  you  wish, 

Has  ruined  this  unhappy  fish. 

The  hue  so  much  by  you  desired, 

By  -his  destruction  was  acquired — 

So  be  contented  with  your  lot, 

Nor  seek  to  change  by  going  to  pot." 


THE  BANDIT'S  FATE. 

HE  wore  a  brace  of  pistols  the  night  when  first  we  met, 
His  deep-lined  brow  was  frowning  beneath  his  wig  of  jet; 
His  footsteps  had  the  moodiness,  his  voice  the  hollow  tone, 
Of  a  bandit-chief,  who  feels  remorse,  and  tears  his  hair  alone — 
I  saw  him  but  at  half-price,  yet  methinks  I  see  him  now, 
In  the  tableau  of  the  last  act,  with  the  blood  upon  his  brow. 

A  private  bandit's  belt  and  boots,  when  next  we  met,  he  wore ; 

His  salary,  he  told  me,  was  lower  than  before ; 

And  standing  at  the  0.  P.  wing  he  strove,  and  not  in  vain, 

To  borrow  half  a  sovereign,  which  he  never  paid  again. 
I  saw  it  but  a  moment — and  I  wish  I  saw  it  now — 
As  he  buttoned  up  his  pocket  with  a  condescending  bow. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  465 

And  once  again  we  met ;  but  no  bandit  chief  was  there ; 
His  rouge  was  off,  and  gone  that  head  of  once  luxuriant  hair : 
He  lodges  in  a  two-pair  back,  and  at  the  public  near, 
He  cannot  liquidate  his  "  chalk,"  or  wipe  away  his  beer. 
I  saw  him  sad  and  seedy,  yet  methinks  I  see  him  now, 
In  the  tableau  of  the  last  act,  with  the  blood  upon  his  brow. 


BOYS. 

SAXK 
"  THE  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man," — 

The  most  perplexing  one,  no  doubt,  is  woman  ; 
The  subtlest  study  that  the  mind  can  scan, 
Of  all  deep  problems,  heavenly  or  human  ! 

But  of  all  studies  in  the  round  of  learning, 
From  nature's  marvels  down  to  human  toys, 

To  minds  well  fitted  for  acute  discerning, 
The  very  queerest  one  is  that  of  boys ! 

If  to  ask  questions  that  would  puzzle  Plato, 
And  all  the  schoolmen  of  the  middle  age, — 

If  to  make  precepts  worthy  of  old  Cato, 
Be  deemed  philosophy, — your  boy's  a  sage ! 

If  the  possession  of  a  teeming  fancy, — 

(Although,  forsooth,  the  younker  doesn't  know  it,) 

Which  he  can  use  in  rarest  necromancy, 
Be  thought  poetical,  your  boy's  a  poet  1 

If  a  strong  will  and  most  courageous  bearing, 

If  to  be  cruel  as  the  Roman  Nero ; 
If  all  that's  chivalrous,  and  all  that's  daring, 

Can  make  a  hero,  then  the  boy's  a  hero ! 

But  changing  soon  with  his  increasing  stature, 

The  boy  is  lost  in  manhood's  riper  age, 
And  with  him  goes  his  former  triple  nature, — 

No  longer  Poet,  Hero,  now,  nor  Sage ! 


2G 


466  THE    SELECT   ACADEMIC   SPEAKER. 

THE   KAILWAY   TRAVELLER'S   FAREWELL. 

PUNCH. 

'TWAS  business  called  a  Father  to  travel  by  the  Rail ; 
His  eye  was  calm,  his  hand  was  firm,  although  his  cheek  was  pale. 
He  took  his  little  boy  and  girl,  and  set  them  on  his  knee  ; 
And  their  mother  hung  about  his  neck,  and  her  tears  flowed  fast  and 
free. 

I'm  going  by  the  Rail,  my  dears — Eliza,  love,  don't  cry — 
Now,  kiss  me  both  before  I  leave,  and  wish  Papa  good-by. 
I  hope  I  shall  be  back  again,  this  afternoon,  to  tea, 
And  then,  I  hope,  alive  and  well,  that  your  Papa  you'll  see. 

I'm  going  by  the  Rail,  my  dears,  where  the  engines  puff  and  hiss ; 
And  ten  to  one  the  chances  are  that  something  goes  amiss ; 
And  in  an  instant,  quick  as  thought — before  you  could  cry  "  Ah  I" 
An  accident  occurs,  and — say  good-by  to  poor  Papa ! 

Sometimes  from  scandalous  neglect,  my  dears,  the  sleepers  sink, 
And  then  you  have  the  carriages  upset,  as  you  may  think. 
The  progress  of  the  train,  sometimes,  a  truck  or  coal-box  checks, 
And  there's  a  risk  for  poor  Papa's,  and  everybody's  necks. 

Or  there  may  be  a  screw  loose,  a  hook,  or  bolt,  or  pin — 
Or  else  an  ill-made  tunnel  may  give  way,  and  tumble  in ; 
And  in  the  wreck  the  passengers  and  poor  Papa  remain 
Confined,  till  down  upon  them  comes  the  next  Excursion-train. 

If  a  policeman's  careless,  dears,  or  if  not  over-bright, 
When  he  should  show  a  red  flag,  it  may  be  he  shows  a  white ; 
Between  two  trains,  in  consequence,  there's  presently  a  clash, 
If  poor  Papa  is  only  bruised,  he's  lucky  in  the  smash. 

Points  may  be  badly  managed,  as  they  were  the  other  day, 
Because  a  stingy  Company. for  hands  enough  won't  pay; 
Over  and  over  goes  the  train — the  engine  off  the  rail, 
And  poor  Papa's  unable,  when  he's  found,  to  tell  the  tale. 

And  should  your  poor  Papa  escape,  my  darlings,  with  his  life, 
May  he  return  on  two  legs,  to  his  children  and  his  wife — 
With  both  his  arms,  my  little  dears,  return  your  fond  embrace, 
And  present  to  you,  unaltered,  every  feature  of  his  face. 

I  hope  I  shall  come  back,  my  dears — but,  mind,  I  am  insured — 
So,  in  case  the  worst  may  happen,  you  are  so  far  all  secured. 
An  action  then  will  also  lie  for  you  and  your  Mamma — 
And  don't  forget  to  bring  it — on  account  of  poor  Papa. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  467 


THE   EICH    MAN   AND   THE   POOR   MAN. 

KHEMNITZEB. 

So  goes  the  world  ; — if  wealthy,  you  may  call 
This,  friend,  that,  brother ; — friends  and  brothers  all 
Though  you  are  worthless — witless — never  mind  it ; 
You  may  have  been  a  stable-boy — what  then? 
'Tis  wealth,  good  sir,  makes  honorable  men. 
You  seek  respect,  no  doubt,  and  you  will  find  it. 

But  if  you  are  poor,  Heaven-help  you !  though  your  sire 

Had  royal  blood  within  him,  and  though  you 

Possess  the  intellect  of  angels  too, 

'Tis  all  in  vain  ; — the  world  will  ne'er  inquire 

On  such  a  score : — Why  should  it  take  the  pains  ? 

'Tis  easier  to  weigh  purses,  sure,  than  brains. 

I  once  saw  a  poor  fellow,  keen  and  clever, 

Witty  and  wise : — he  paid  a  man  a  visit, 

And  no  one  noticed  him,  and  no  one  ever 

Gave  him  a  welcome.     "  Strange,"  cried  I,  "  whence  is  it?" 

He  walked  on  this  side,  then  on  that, 

He  tried  to  introduce  a  social  chat ; 
Now  here,  now  there,  in  vain  he  tried ; 
Some  formally  and  freezingly  replied, 

And  some 
Said  by  their  silence — "  Better  stay  at  home." 

A  rich  man  burst  the  door, 

As  Croesus  rich,  I'm  sure 
He  could  not  pride  himself  upon  his  wit, 
And  as  for  wisdom  he  had  none  of  it ; 
He  had  what's  better  ;  he  had  wealth.  * 

What  a  confusion ! — all  stand  up  erect — 
These  crowd  around  to  ask  him  of  his  health, 

These  bow  in  honest  duty  and  respect ; 
And  these  arrange  a  sofa  or  a  chair, 
And  these  conduct  him  there. 
"  Allow  me,  sir,  the  honor ;" — Then  a  bow 
Down  to  the  earth— r-Is't  possible  to  show 
Meet  gratitude  for  such  kind  condescension  ? 

The  poor  man  hung  his  head, 
And  to  himself  he  said, 
"  This  is  indeed  beyond  my  comprehension :" 


468          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Then  looking  round, 

One  friendly  face  he  found, 

And  said — "  Pray  tell  me  why  is  wealth  preferred 
To  wisdom  ?" — "  That's  a  silly  question,  friend  I" 
Replied  the  other — "  have  you  never  heard, 

A  man  may  lend  his  store 

Of  gold  or  silver  ore, 
But  wisdom  none  can  borrow,  none  can  lend  ?" 


THE   VICAK. 

PRABD. 

SOME  years  ago,  ere  Time  and  Taste 

Had  turned  our  parish  topsy-turvy, 
When  Darnel  Park  was  Darnel  Waste, 

And  roads  as  little  known  as  scurvy, 
The  man  who  lost  his  way  between 

St.  Mary's  Hill  and  Sandy  Thicket, 
Was  always  shown  across  the  green, 

And  guided  to  the  parson's  wicket. 

Back  flew  the  bolt  of  lissom  lath  ; 

Fair  Margaret  in  her  tidy  kirtle, 
Led  the  lorn  traveller  up  the  path, 

Through  clean-clipt  rows  of  box  and  myrtle : 
And  Don  and  Sancho,  Tramp  and  Tray, 

Upon  the  parlor  steps  collected, 
Wagged  all  their  tails  and  seemed  to  say, 

"  Our  master  knows  you  ;  you're  expected  1" 

Up  rose  the  Reverend  Dr.  Brown, 

Up  rose  the  Doctor's  "  winsome  marrow ;" 
The  lady  laid  her  knitting  down, 

Her  husband  clasped  his  ponderous  Barrow ; 
Whate'er  the  stranger's  caste  or  creed, 

Pundit  or  papist,  saint  or  sinner, 
He  found  a  stable  for  his  steed, 

And  welcome  for  himself,  and  dinner. 

If,  when  he  reached  his  journey's  end, 
And  warmed  himself  in  court  or  college, 

He  had  not  gained  an  honest  friend, 

And  twenty  curious  scraps  of  knowledge ; — 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  469 

If  he  departed  as  he  came, 

With  no  new  light  on  love  or  liquor, — 
Good  sooth,  the  traveller  was  to  blame, 

And  not  the  vicarage,  or  the  vicar. 

His  talk  was  like  a  stream  which  runs 

With  rapid  change  from  rocks  to  roses : 
It  slipped  from  politics  to  puns : 

It  passed  from  Mahomet  to  Moses : 
Beginning  with  the  laws  which  keep 

The  planets  in  their  radiant  courses, 
And  ending  with  some  precept  deep 

For  dressing  eels  or  shoeing  horses. 

His  sermon  never  said  or  showed 

That  earth  is  foul,,  that  heaven  is  gracious, 
Without  refreshment  on  the  road 

From  Jerome,  or  from  Athanasius  ; 
And  sure  a  righteous  zeal  inspired 

The  hand  and  head  that  penned  and  planned  them, 
For  all  who  understood,  admired, 

And  some  who  did  not  understand  them. 

He  did  not  think  all  mischief  fair, 

Although  he  had  a  knack  of  joking ; 
He  did  not  make  himself  a  bear, 

Although  he  had  a  taste  for  smoking: 
And  when  religious  sects  ran  mad, 

He  held,  in  spite  of  all  his  learning, 
That  if  a  man's  belief  is  bad, 

It  will  not  be  improved  by  burning. 

And  he  was  kind,  and  loved  to  sit 

In  the  low  hut  or  garnished  cottage, 
And  praise  the  farmer's  homely  wit, 

And  share  the  widow's  homelier  pottage : 
At  his  approach  complaint  grew  mild, 

And  when  his  hand  unbarred  the  shutter, 
The  clammy  lips  of  fever  smiled 

The  welcome  which  they  could  not  utter. 

He  always  had  a  tale  for  me 

Of  Julius  Caesar  or  of  Venus : 
From  him  I  learned  the  rule  of  three, 

Cat's  cradle,  leap-frog,  and  Quae  Genus ; 
40 


470  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

I  used  to  singe  his  powdered  wig, 

To  steal  the  staff  he  put  such  trust  in  ; 

And  make  the  puppy  dance  a  jig 
When  he  began  to  quote  Augustin. 

Alack  the  change !  in  vain  I  look 

For  haunts  in  which  my  boyhood  trifled ; 
The  level  lawn,  the  trickling  brook, 

The  trees  I  climbed,  the  beds  I  rifled: 
The  church  is  larger  than  before ; 

You  reach  it  by  a  carriage  entry  ; 
It  holds  three  hundred  people  more : 

And  pews  are  fitted  up  for  gentry. 

Sit  in  the  vicar's  seat :  you'll  hear 
The  doctrine  of  a  gentle  Johnian, 

Whose  hand  is  white,  whose  voice  is  clear, 
Whose  tone  is  very  Ciceronian. 

Where  is  the  old  man  laid  ? — look  down, 
And  construe  on  the  slab  before  you, 

Hie  JACET  GULIELMUS  BROWN, 

VlR  NULLA  NON  DONANDUS  LAURA. 


THE   MARCH  TO   MOSCOW. 

ROBERT  SOUTHS* 

THE  Emperor  Nap  he  would  set  off 
On  a  summer  excursion  to  Moscow ; 
The  fields  were  green,  and  the  sky  was  blue, 

Morbleu!  Parbleu! 
What  a  pleasant  excursion  to  Moscow  ! 

Four  hundred  thousand  men  and  more 

Must  go  with  him  to  Moscow : 
There  were  Marshals  by  the  dozen, 

And  Dukes  by  the  score ; 
Princes  a  few,  and  Kings  one  or  two  ; 
While  the  fields  are  so  green,  and  the  sky  so  blue, 

Morbleu !  Parbleu ! 
What  a  pleasant  excursion  to  Moscow  ! 

There  was  Junot  and  Augereau, 
Heigh-ho  for  Moscow ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  471 

Dombrowsky  and  Poniatowsky, 

Marshal  Ney,  lack-a-day  1 
General  Rapp,  and  the  Emperor  Nap ; 

Nothing  would  do, 

While  the  fields  were  so  green,  and  the  sky  so  blue, 
Morbleu!  Parbleu ! 
Nothing  would  do 
For  the  whole  of  this  crew, 
But  they  must  be  marching  to  Moscow. 

The  Emperor  Nap  he  talked  so  big 

That  he  frightened  Mr.  Roscoe. 

John  Bull,  he  cries,  if  you'll  be  wise, 

Ask  the  Emperor  Nap  if  he  will  please 

To  grant  you  peace,  upon  your  knees, 

Because  he  is  going  to  Moscow ! 
He'll  make  all  the  Poles  come  out  of  their  holes, 
And  beat  the  Russians,  and  eat  the  Prussians ; 
For  the  fields  are  green,  and  the  sky  is  blue, 

Morbleu !  Parbleu ! 
And  he'll  certainly  maf eh  to  Moscow ! 

And  Counsellor  Brougham  was  all  in  a  fume 
At  the  thought  of  the  march  to  Moscow : 
The  Russians,  he  said,  they  were  undone, 
And  the  great  Fee-Faw-Fum 

Would  presently  come, 
With  a  hop,  step,  and  jump,  unto  London: 

For,  as  for  his  conquering  Russia, 
However  some  persons  might  scoff  it, 
Do  it  he  could,  and  do  it  he  would, 
And  from  doing  it  nothing  would  come  but  good, 

And  nothing  could  call  him  off  it, 
Mr.  Jeffrey  said  so,  who  must  certainly  know, 

For  he  was  the  Edinburgh  Prophet. 

They  all  of  them  knew  Mr.  Jeffrey's  Review, 

Which  with  Holy  Writ  ought  to  be  reckoned : 

It  was,  through  thick  and  thin,  to  its  party  true ; 

Its  back  was  buff,  and  its  sides  were  blue, 

Morbleu !  Parbleu ! 
It  served  them  for  Law  and  for  Gospel  too. 

But  the  Russians  stoutly  they  turned  to 
Upon  the  road  to  Moscow. 


472  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Nap  had  to  fight  his  way  all  through  ; 
They  could  fight,  though  they  could  not  parlez  vous ; 
But  the  fields  were  green,  and  the  sky  was  blue, 

Morbleu!  Parbleu ! 
And  so  he  got  to  Moscow. 

He  found  the  place  too  warm  for  him, 

For  they  set  fire  to  Moscow. 
To  get  there  had  cost  him  much  ado, 
And  then  no  better  course  he  knew, 
While  the  fields  were  green,  and  the  sky  was  blue, 

Morbleu !  Parbleu  ! 
But  to  march  back  again  from  Moscow. 

The  Russians  they  stuck  close  to  him 

All  on  the  road  from  Moscow. 
There  was  Tormazow  and  Jemalow, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  ow ; 
Milarodovitch  and  Jaladovitch, 

And  Karatschkowitch, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  itch ; 
Schamscheff,  Souchosaneff, 

And  Schcpaleff, 

And  all  the  others  that  end  in  eff; 
Wasiltschikoff,  Kostomaroff, 

And  Tchoglokoff, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  off; 
Rajeffsky,  and  Novereffsky, 

And  Rieffsky, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  effsky ; 

Oscharoffsky  and  Rostoffsky, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  offsky ; 

And  Platoff  he  played  them  off, 
And  Shouyaloff  he  shovelled  them  off, 
And  Markoff  he  marked  them  off, 
And  Krosnoff  he  crossed  them  off, 
And  Tuchkoff  he  touched  them  off, 
And  Boroskoff  he  bored  them  off, 
And  Kutousoff  he  cut  them  off, 
And  Parenzoff  he  pared  them  off, 
And  Worronzoff  he  worried  them  off, 
And  Doctoroff  he  doctored  them  off, 
And  Rodionoff  he  flogged  them  off, 
And,  last  of  all,  an  Admiral  came, 
A  terrible  man  with  a  terrible  name, 


KECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  473 

A  name  which  you  all  know  by  sight  very  well, 
But  which  no  one  can  speak,  and  no  one  can  spell. 
They  stuck  close  to  Nap  with  all  their  might ; 

They  were  on  the  left  and  on  the  right, 
Behind  and  before,  arid  by  day  and  by  night ; 

He  would  rather  parlez-vous  than  fight ; 
But  he  looked  white,  and  he  looked  blue, 

Morbleu !  Parbleu ! 
When  parlez-vous  no  more  would  do, 
For  they  remembered  Moscow. 

And  then  came  on  the  frost  and  snow, 

All  on  the  road  from  Moscow. 
The  wind  and  the  weather  he  found,  in  that  hour, 

Cared  nothing  for  him,  nor  for  all  his  power ; 
For  him  who,  while  Europe  crouched  under  his  rod, 
Put  his  trust  in  his  Fortune,  and  not  in  his  God. 
Worse  and  worse  every  day  the  elements  grew, 
The  fields  were  so  white,  and  the  sky  so  blue, 

Sacrebleu !  Ventrebleu  ! 
What  a  horrible  journey  from  Moscow  ! 

What  then  thought  the  Emperor  Nap 

Upon  the  road  from  Moscow  ? 
Why,  I  ween  he  thought  it  small  delight 
To  fight  all  day,  and  to  freeze  all  night ; 
And  he  was  besides  in  a  very  great  fright, 

For  a  whole  skin  he  liked  to  be  in  ; 
And  so,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do, 
When  the  fields  were  so  white,  and  the  sky  so  blue, 

Morbleu !  Parbleu ! 
He  stole  away, — I  tell  you  true, — 
Upon  the  road  from  Moscow. 
'Tis  myself,  quoth  he,  I  must  mind  most ; 
So  the  Devil  may  take  the  hindmost. 

Too  cold  upon  the  road  was  he  ; 
Too  hot  had  he  been  at  Moscow ; 
But  colder  and  hotter  he  may  be, 
For  the  grave  is  colder  than  Muscovy ; 
And  a  place  there  is  to  be  kept  in  view, 
Where  the  fire  is  red,  and  the  brimstone  blue, 

Morbleu !  Parbleu ! 
Which  he  must  go  to, 
If  the  Pope  say  true, 
40* 


474          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

If  he  does  not  in  time  look  about  him ; 
Where  his  namesake  almost 
He  may  have  for  his  Host ; 
He  has  reckoned  too  long  without  him  ; 

If  that  Host  get  him  in  Purgatory, 
He  won't  leave  him  there  alone  with  his  glory ; 
But  there  he  must  stay  for  a  very  long  day, 
For  from  thence  there  is  no  stealing  away, 
As  there  was  on  the  road  from  Moscow. 


THE   CHAMELEON. 

MERRICK. 

OFT  has  it  been  my  lot  to  mark 
A  proud,  conceited,  talking  spark, 
Returning  from  his  finished  tour, 
Grown  ten  times  perter  than  before : 
Whatever  word  you  chance  to  drop, 
The  travelled  fool  your  mouth  will  stop : — 
"Sir,  if  my  judgment  you'll  allow — 
I've  seen — and  sure  I  ought  to  know ;" 
So  begs  you'd  pay  a  due  submission, 
And  acquiesce  in  his  decision. 

Two  travellers  of  such  a  cast, 
As  o'er  Arabia's  wilds  they  passed, 
And  on  their  way,  in  friendly  chat, 
Now  talked  of  this,  and  then  of  that, 
Discoursed  awhile,  'mongst  other  matter, 
Of  the  chameleon's  form  and  nature. 
"A  stranger  animal,"  cries  one, 
"  Sure  never  lived  beneath  the  sun ; 
A  lizard's  body,  lean  and  long, 
A  fish's  head,  a  serpent's  tongue, 
Its  tooth  with  triple  claw  disjoined  ; 
And  what  a  length  of  tail  behind  ! 
How  slow  its  pace !  and  then  its  hue — 
Who  ever  saw  so  fine  a  blue  ?" 

"  Hold  there !"  the  other  quick  replies — 
"  'Tis  green  ;  I  saw  it  with  these  eyes, 
As  late  with  open  mouth  it  lay, 
And  warmed  it  in  the  sunny  ray  ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  475 

Stretched  at  its  ease,  the  beast  I  viewed, 
And  saw  it  eat  the  air  for  food." 

"  I've  seen  it,  sir,  as  well  as  you, 
And  must  again  affirm  it  blue ; 
At  leisure  I  the  beast  surveyed, 
Extended  in  the  cooling  shade." 

"  'Tis  green  !  'tis  green,  sir,  I  assure  ye  I" 
"  Green  ?"  cries  the  other,  in  a  fury  ; 
"  Why,  sir.  d'ye  think  I've  lost  my  eyes  !" 
"  'Twere  no  great  loss,"  the  friend  replies ; 
"  For  if  they  always  use  you  thus, 
You'll  find  them  but  of  little  use." 

So  high,  at  last,  the  contest  rose, 
From  words  they  almost  came  to  blows  ; 
When  luckily  came  by  a  third ; 
To  him  the  question  they  referred, 
And  begged  he'd  tell  them,  if  he  knew, 
Whether  the  thing  was  green  or  blue. 

"  Sirs,"  said  the  umpire,  "  cease  your  pother ; 
The  creature's  neither  one  nor  t'other. 
I  caught  the  animal  last  night, 
And  viewed  it  o'er  by  candle  light ; 
I  marked  it  well — 'twas  black  as  jet: 
You  stare — but,  sirs,  I've  got  it  yet, 
And  can  produce  it." — "  Pray,  sir,  do  ; 
I'll  lay  my  life  the  thing  is  blue." 
"  And  I'll  be  sworn,  that  when  you've  seen 
The  reptile,  you'll  pronounce  him  green." — 
"  Well,  then,  at  once  to  end  the  doubt," 
Replies  the  man,  "  I'll  turn  him  out ; 
And  when  before  your  eyes  I've  set  him, 
If  you  don't  find  him  black,  I'll  eat  him." 
He  said — then  full  before  their  sight 
Produced  the  beast ;  and,  lo  !  'twas  white ! 

Both  stared  ;  the  man  looked  wondrous  wise. 
"  My  children/'  the  chameleon  cries, — 
Then  first  the  creature  found  a  tongue, — 
"  You  all  are  right,  and  all  are  wrong. 


476  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

When  next  you  talk  of  what  you  view, 
Think  others  see  as  well  as  you, 
Nor  wonder  if  you  find  that  none 
Prefers  your  eyesight  to  his  own/' 


DERMOT  O'DOWD. 

LOVEB. 

WHEN  Dermot  O'Dowd  coorted  Molly  M'Can, 

They  were  sweet  as  the  honey  and  soft  as  the  down, 
But  when  they  were  wed  they  began  to  find  out 

That  Dermot  could  storm  and  that  Molly  could  frown  ; 
They  would  neither  give  in — so  the  neighbors  gave  out — 

Both  were  hot,  till  a  coldness  came  over  the  two, 
And  Molly  would  flusther,  and  Dermot  would  blusther, 
Stamp  holes  in  the  flure,  and  cry  out  "  wirrasthru ! 
Oh  murther !    Pm  married, 
I  wish  I  had  tarried  ; 

I'm  sleepless  and  speechless — no  word  can  I  say. 
My  bed  is  no  use, 
I'll  give  back  to  the  goose 
The  feathers  I  plucked  on  last  Michaelmas  day." 

"Ah !"  says  Molly,  "you  once  used  to  call  me  a  bird." 

"  Faix,  you're  ready  enough  still  to  fly  out,"  says  he. 
"  You  said  then  my  eyes  were  as  bright  as  the  skies, 

And  my  lips  like  the  rose — now  no  longer  like  me." 
Says  Dermot,  "  your  eyes  are  as  bright  as  the  morn, 

But  your  brow  is  as  black  as  a  big  thunder  cloud, 
If  your  lip  is  a  rose — sure  your  tongue  is  a  thorn 

That  sticks  in  the  heart  of  poor  Dermot  O'Dowd." 

Says  Molly,  "you  once  said  my  voice  was  a  thrush, 

But  now  it's  a  rusty  ould  hinge  with  a  creak  ;" 
Says  Dermot,  "you  call'd  me  a  duck  when  I  coorted, 

But  now  I'm  a  goose  every  day  in  the  week. 
But  all  husbands  are  geese,  though  our  pride  it  may  shock, 

From  the  first  'twas  ordained  so  by  Nature,  I  fear, 
Ould  Adam  himself  was  the  first  o'  the  flock, 

And  Eve,  with  her  apple  sauce,  cooked  him,  my  dear." 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  477 

FATHER  LAND  AND  MOTHER  TONGUE. 

LOVER. 
OUR  Father  land!   and  would'st  thou  know 

Why  we  should  call  it  Father  land  ? 
It  is  that  Adam  here  below, 

Was  made  of  earth  by  Nature's  hand ; 
And  he,  our  father,  made  of  earth, 

Hath  peopled  earth  on  every  hand, 
And  we,  in  memory  of  his  birth, 

Do  call  our  country,  "  Father  land." 

At  first,  in  Eden's  bowers  they  say, 

No  sound  of  speech  had  Adam  caught, 
But  whistled  like  a  bird  all  day — 

And  may  be,  'twas  for  want  of  thought : 
But  Nature,  with  resistless  laws, 

Made  Adam  soon  surpass  the  birds, 
She  gave  him  lovely  Eve — because 

If  he'd  a  wife — they  must  have  words. 

And  so,  the  NATIVE  LAND  I  hold, 

By  male  descent  is  proudly  mine  ; 
The  LANGUAGE,  as  the  tale  hath  told, 

Was  given  in  the  female  line. 
And  thus,  we  see,  on  either  hand, 

We  name  our  blessings  whence  they've  sprung, 
We  call  our  country  FATHER  land, 

We  call  our  language  MOTHER  tongue. 


MY   ONLY  CLIENT. 

PUNCH. 
OH  !  take  away  my  wig  and  gown, 

Their  sight  is  mockery  now  to  me : 
I  pace  my  chambers  up  and  down, 
Reiterating  "Where  is  he?" 

Alas  !  wild  echo,  with  a  moan, 

Murmurs  above  my  feeble  head : 
In  the  wide  world  I  am  alone ; 

Ha !  ha!  my  only  client's — dead  1 

In  vain  the  robing-room  I  seek ; 
The  very  waiters  scarcely  bow ; 


478  .        THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC   SPEAKER. 

Their  looks  contemptuously  speak, 
"  He's  lost  his  only  client  now." 

E'en  the  mild  usher,  who,  of  yore, 
Would  hasten  when  his  name  I  said, 

To  hand  in  motions,  comes  no  more, 
He  knows  my  only  client's  dead. 

Ne'er  shall  I,  rising  up  in  court, 
Open  the  pleadings  of  a  suit : 

Ne'er  shall  the  judges  cut  me  short 
While  moving  them  for  a  compute. 

No  more  with  a  consenting  brief 
Shall  I  politely  bow  my  head ; 

Where  shall  I  run  to  hide  my  grief? 
Alas  !  my  only  client's  dead. 

Imagination's  magic  power 
Brings  back,  as  clear  as  clear  can  be, 

The  spot,  the  day,  the  very  hour, 
When  first  I  signed  my  maiden  plea. 

In  the  Exchequer's  hindmost  row 

I  sat,  and  some  one  touched  my  head, 

He  tendered  ten-and-six,  but  oh ! 
That  only  client  now  is  dead  ! 

In  vain  I  try  to  sing — Fm  hoarse : 
In  vain  I  try  to  play  the  flute, 

A  phantom  seems  to  flit  across — 
It  is  the  ghost  of  a  compute. 

I  try  to  read, — but  all  in  vain  ; 

My  chamber  listlessly  I  tread  ; 
Be  still,  my  heart ;  throb  less,  my  brain ; 

Ho !  ho !  my  only  client's  dead. 

I  think  I  hear  a  double  knock : 

I  did — alas !  it  is  a  dun. 
Tailor — avaunt !  my  sense  you  shock ; 

He's  dead  !  you  know  I  had  but  one. 

What's  this  they  thrust  into  my  hand  ? 

A  bill  returned ! — ten  pounds  for  bread ! 
My  butcher's  got  a  large  demand ; 

I'm  mad  !  my  only  client's  dead. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  479 

THE    LAST   STANZAS    OF   YANKEE    DOODLE. 

PUNCH. 
YANKEE  DOODLE  sent  to  Town 

His  goods  for  exhibition  ; 
Everybody  ran  him  down, 

And  laughed  at  his  position. 
They  thought  him  all  the  world  behind ; 

A  goney,  muff,  or  noodle  ; 
Laugh  on,  good  people — never  mind — 

Says  quiet  Yankee  Doodle. 

Yankee  Doodle  had  a  craft, 

A  rather  tidy  clipper, 
And  he  challenged,  while  they  laughed, 

The  Britishers  to  whip  her. 
Their  whole  yacht-squadron  she  outsped, 

And  that  on  their  own  water ; 
Of  all  the  lot  she  went  a-head, 

And  they  came  nowhere  arter. 

O'er  Panama  there  was  a  scheme 

Long  talked  of,  to  pursue  a 
Short  route — which  many  thought  a  dream — 

By  Lake  Nicaragua. 
John  Bull  discussed  the  plan  on  foot. 

With  slow  irresolution, 
While  Yankee  Doodle  went  and  put 

It  into  execution. 

A  steamer  of  the  Collins  line, 

A  Yankee  Doodle's  notion, 
Has  also  quickest  cut  the  brine 

Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
And  British  agents,  no  ways  slow 

Her  merits  to  discover, 
Have  been  and  bought  her — just  to  tow 

The  Cunard  packets  over. 

Your  gunsmiths  of  their  skill  may  crack, 

But  that  again  don't  mention  : 
I  guess  that  Colt's  revolvers  whack 

Their  very  first  invention. 
By  Yankee  Doodle,  too,  you're  beat 

Downright  in  Agriculture, 
With  his  machine  for  reaping  wheat, 

Chawed  up  as  by  a  vulture. 


480          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

You  also  fancied,  in  your  pride, 

Which  truly  is  tarnation, 
Them  British  locks  of  yourn  defied 

The  rogues  of  all  creation  ; 
But  Chubbs'  and  Bramah's  Hobbs  has  picked, 

And  you  must  now  be  viewed  all 
As  having  been  completely  licked 

By  glorious  Yankee  Doodle. 


THE   SONG   OF   HIAWATHA. 

(An  English  Criticism.) 

PONCH 

You  who  hold  in  grace  and  honor, 
Hold,  as  one  who  did  you  kindness 
When  he  published  former  poems, 
Sang  Evangeline  the  noble, 
Sang  the  golden  Golden  Legend, 
Sang  the  songs  the  Voices  utter 
Crying  in  the'  night  and  darkness, 
Sang  how  unto  the  Red  Planet 
Mars  he  gave  the  Night's  First  Watches, 
Henry  Wadsworth,  whose  adnomen 
(Coming  awkward,  for  the  accents, 
Into  this  his  latest  rhythm) 
Write  we  as  Protracted  Fellow, 
Or  in  Latin,  Longus  Comes — 
Buy  the  Song  of  Hiawatha. 

Should  you  ask  me,  By  what  story, 
By  what  action,  plot,  or  fiction, 
All  these  matters  are  connected? 
I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 
Go  to  Bogue  and  buy  the  poem, 
Published  neatly,  at  one  shilling, 
Published  sweetly,  at  five  shillings. 
Should  you  ask  me,  Is  there  music 
In  the  structure  of  the  verses, 
In  the  names  and  in  the  phrases  ? 
Pleading  that,  like  weaver  Bottom, 
You  prefer  your  ears  well-tickled  ; 
I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 
Henry's  verse  is  very  charming  ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  481 

And  for  names — there's  Hiawatha, 
"Who's  the  hero  of  the  poem  ; 
Mudjeekeewis,  that's  the  West  Wind, 
Hiawatha's  graceless  father ; 
There's  Nokomis,  there's  Wenonah — 
Ladies  both,  of  various  merit ; 
Puggawangum,  that's  a  war-club  ; 
Pau-puk-keewis,  he's  a  dandy, 
"  Barred  with  streaks  of  red  and  yellow ; 
And  the  women  and  the  maidens 
Love  the  handsome  Pau-puk-keewis/' 
Tracing  in  him  Punch's  likeness. 
Then  there's  lovely  Minnehaha — 
Pretty  name  with  pretty  meaning — 
It  implies  the  Laughing-water ; 
And  the  darling  Minnehaha 
Married  noble  Hiawatha ; 
And  her  story's  far  too  touching 
To  be  sport  for  you,  you  donkey, 
With  your  ears  like  weaver  Bottom's, 
Ears  like  booby  Bully  Bottom. 

Once  upon  a  time  in  London, 
In  the  days  of  the  Lyceum, 
Ages  ere  keen  Arnold  let  it 
To  the  dreadful  Northern  Wizard, 
Ages  ere  the  buoyant  Mathews 
Tripped  upon  its  boards  in  briskness — 
I  remember,  I  remember 
How  a  scribe,  with  pen  chivalrous, 
Tried  to  save  these  Indian  stories 
From  the  fate  of  chill  oblivion. 
Out  came  sundry  comic  Indians 
Of  the  tribe  of  Kut-an-hack-um. 
With  their  Chief,  the  clean  Efmatthews, 
With  the  growling  Downy  Beaver, 
With  the  valiant  Monkey's  Uncle, 
Came  the  gracious  Mari-Kee-lee, 
Firing  off  a  pocket-pistol, 
Singing,  too,  that  Mudjee-keewis 
(Shortened  in  the  song  to  "  Wild  Wind,") 
Was  a  spirit  very  kindly. 
Came  her  Sire,  the  joyous  Kee-lee, 
By  the  waning  tribe  adopted, 
41  2H 


482  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Named  the  Buffalo,  and  wedded 

To  the  fairest  of  the  maidens, 

But  repented  of  his  bargain, 

And  his  brother  Kut-an-hack-ums 

Very  nearly  chopped  his  toes  off — 

Serve  him  right,  the  fickle  Kee-lee. 

If  you  ask  me,  What  this  memory 

Hath  to  do  with  Hiawatha, 

And  the  poem  which  I  speak  of? 

I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 

You're  a  fool,  and  most  presumptuous ; 

'Tis  not  for  such  humble  cattle 

To  inquire  what  links  and  unions 

Join  the  thoughts,  and  mystic  meanings, 

Of  their  betters,  mighty  poets, 

Mighty  writers — Punch  the  mightiest ; 

I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 

Shut  your  mouth,  and  go  to  David, 

David,  Mr.  Punch's  neighbor, 

Buy  the  Song  of  Hiawatha, 

Read,  and  learn,  and  then  be  thankful 

Unto  Punch  and  Henry  Wadsworth, 

Punch  and  noble  Henry  Wadsworth, 

Truer  poet,  better  fellow, 

Than  to  be  annoyed  at  jesting, 

From  his  friend,  great  Punch,  who  loves  him. 


RHYME   OF   THE   BAIL. 

SAXB. 
SINGING  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale, — 
Bless  me !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail ! 

Men  of  different  "  stations" 

In  the  eye  of  Fame, 
Here  are  very  quickly 

Coming  to  the  same. 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  483 

High  and  lowly  people, 

Birds  of  every  feather, 
On  a  common  level 

Travelling  together ! 

Gentleman  in  shorts, 

Looming  very  tall ; 
Gentleman  at  large, 

Talking  very  small ; 
Gentleman  in  tights, 

With  a  loose-ish  mien : 
Gentleman -in  gray, 

Looking  rather  green. 

Gentleman  quite  old, 

Asking  for  the  news  ; 
Gentleman  in  black, 

In  a  fit  of  blues  ; 
Gentleman  in  claret, 

Sober  as  a  vicar ; 
Gentleman  in  Tweed, 

Dreadfully  in  liquor ! 

Stranger  on  the  right, 
Looking  very  sunny, 

Obviously  reading 

Something  rather  funny. 

Now  the  smiles  are  thicker, 
Wonder  what  they  mean  ? 

Faith,  he's  got  the  KNICKER- 
BOCKER Magazine ! 

Stranger  on  the  left, 

Closing  up  his  peepers, 
Now  he  snores  amain, 

Like  the  Seven  Sleepers ; 
At  his  feet  a  volume 

Gives  the  explanation, 
How  the  man  grew  stupid 

From  "Association!" 

Ancient  maiden  lady 

Anxiously  remarks, 
That  there  must  be  peril 

'Mong  so  many  sparks ; 


484          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Roguish  looking  fellow, 
Turning  to  the  stranger, 

Says  it's  his  opinion 
She  is  out  of  danger ! 

Woman  with  her  baby, 

Sitting  vis-a-vis  ; 
Baby  keeps  a  squalling, 

Woman  looks  at  me ; 
Asks  about  the  distance, 

Says  it's  tiresome  talking, 
Noises  of  the  cars 

Are  so  very  shocking ! 

Market  woman  careful 

Of  the  precious  casket, 
Knowing  eggs  are  eggs, 

Tightly  holds  her  basket : 
Feeling  that  a  smash, 

If  it  came,  would  surely 
Send  her  eggs  to  pot 

Rather  prematurely ! 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale  ; 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail ! 


A   SERENADE. 

THOMAS  HOOD. 

"  LULLABY,  0,  lullaby  1" 
Thus  I  heard  a  father  cry, 

"Lullaby,  0,  lullaby! 
The  brat  will  never  shut  an  eye  ; 
Hither  come,  some  power  divine  ! 
Close  his  lids,  or  open  mine  !" 

"  Lullaby,  0,  lullaby  ! 
What  the  devil  makes  him  cry  ? 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETR5T.  485 

Lullaby,  0,  lullaby! 
Still  he  stares — I  wonder  why, 
Why  are  not  the  sons  of  earth 
Blind,  like  puppies,  from  the  birth  ?" 

"  Lullaby,  0,  lullaby  !" 
Thus  I  heard  the  father  cry ; 

"Lullaby,  0,  lullaby! 
Mary,  you  must  come  and  try ! — 
Hush,  0,  hush,  for  mercy's  sake — 
The  more  I  sing,  the  more  you  wake  I" 

"  Lullaby,  0,  lullaby  ! 
Fie,  you  little  creature,  fie ! 

Lullaby,  0,  lullaby ! 
Is  no  poppy-syrup  nigh  ? 
Give  him  some,  or  give  him  all, 
I  am  nodding  to  his  fall !" 

"  Lullaby,  0,  lullaby ! 
Two  such  nights  and  I  shall  die ! 

Lullaby,  0,  lullaby ! 
He'll  be  bruised,  and  so  shall  I — 
How  can  I  from  bed-posts  keep, 
When  I'm  walking  in  my  sleep  ?" 

"  Lullaby,  0,  lullaby ! 
Sleep  his  very  looks  deny — 

Lullaby,  0,  lullaby ! 
Nature  soon  will  stupefy — 
My  nerves  relax — my  eyes  grow  dim — 
Who's  that  fallen— me  or  him  ?" 


MORNING  MEDITATIONS. 

THOMAS  HOOD. 

LET  Taylor  preach  upon  a  morning  breezy, 
How  well  to  rise  while  nights  and  larks  are  flying — 
For  my  part  getting  up  seems  not  so  easy 

By  half  as  lying. 

What  if  the  lark  does  carol  in  the  sky, 
Soaring  beyond  the  sight  to  find  him  out — 
Wherefore  am  I  to  rise  at  such  a  fly  ? 

I'm  not  a  trout. 
41* 


486  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Talk  not  to  me  of  bees  and  such  like  hums, 
The  smell  of  sweet  herbs  at  the  morning  prime — 
Only  lie  long  enough,  and  bed  becomes 
A  bed  of  time. 

To  me  Dan  Phoebus  and  his  car  are  nought, 
His  steeds  that  paw  impatiently  about — 
Let  them  enjoy,  say  I,  as  horses  ought, 
The  first  turn-out ! 

Right  beautiful  the  dewy  meads  appear 

Besprinkled  by  the  rosy-fingered  girl ; 

What  then, — if  I  prefer  my  pillow-beer 

To  early  pearl  ? 

My  stomach  is  not  ruled  by  other  men's, 
And  grumbling  for  a  reason,  quaintly  begs 
Wherefore  should  master  rise  before  the  hens 
Have  laid  their  eggs  ? 

Why  from  a  comfortable  pillow  start 
To  see  faint  flushes  in  the  east  awaken  ? 
A  fig,  say  I,  for  any  streaky  part, 
Excepting  bacon. 

An  early  riser  Mr.  Gray  has  drawn, 
Who  used  to  haste  the  dewy  grass  among, 
"  To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn" — 
Well — he  died  young. 

With  charwomen  such  early  hours  agree, 
And  sweeps  that  earn  betimes  their  bit  and  sup ; 
But  I'm  no  climbing  boy,  and  need  not  be 
All  up — all  up  ! 

So  here  I'll  lie,  my  morning  calls  deferring, 
Till  something  nearer  to  the  stroke  of  noon  ; — 
A  man  that's  fond  precociously  of  stirring, 
Must  be  a  spoon. 


THE   SEASON. 

THOMAS  HOOP. 

SUMMER'S  gone  and  over ! 
Fogs  are  falling  down ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  487 

And  with  russet  tinges 
Autumn's  doing  brown. 

Boughs  are  daily  rifled 

By  the  gusty  thieves, 
And  the  Book  of  Nature 

Getteth  short  of  leaves. 

Round  the  tops  of  houses, 

Swallows,  as  they  flit, 
Give,  like  yearly  tenants, 

Notices  to  quit. 

Skies,  of  fickle  temper, 

Weep  by  turns,  and  laugh — 
Night  and  Day  together 

Taking  half-and-half. 

So  September  endeth — 

Cold,  and  most  perverse — 
But  the  Month  that  follows, 

Sure  will  pinch  us  worse  ! 


SPRING. 

(A  New  Version.) 

THOMAS  HOOD. 
"  COME,  gentle  Spring !  ethereal  mildness  come  !" 

Oh !  Thomson,  void  of  rhyme  as  well  as  reason, 
How  couldst  thou  thus  poor  human  nature  hum  ? 
There's  no  such  season. 

The  Spring !  I  shrink  and  shudder  at  her  name ! 

For  why,  I  find  her  breath  a  bitter  blighter  1 
And  suffer  from  her  blows  as  if  they  came 

From  Spring  the  Fighter. 

Her  praises,  then,  let  hardy  poets  sing, 

And  be  her  tuneful  laureates  and  upholders, 

Who  do  not  feel  as  if  they  had  a  Spring 
Poured  down  their  shoulders  ! 

Let  others  eulogize  her  floral  shows, 
From  me  they  cannot  win  a  single  stanza, 


488          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

I  know  her  blooms  are  in  full  blow — and  so's 
The  Influenza. 

Her  cowslips,  stocks,  and  lilies  of  the  vale, 
Her  honey-blossoms  that  you  hear  the  bees  at, 

Her  pansies,  daffodils,  and  primrose  pale, 
Are  things  I  sneeze  at ! 

Fair  is  the  vernal  quarter  of  the  year ! 

And  fair  its  early  buddings  and  its  blowings — 
But  just  suppose  Consumption's  seeds  appear 

With  other  sowings ! 

For  me,  I  find,  when  eastern  winds  are  high, 

A  frigid,  not  a  genial  inspiration  ; 
Nor  can,  like  Iron-Chested  Chubb,  defy 

An  inflammation. 

Smitten  by  breezes  from  the  land  of  plague, 
To  me  all  vernal  luxuries  are  fables, 

Oh !  where's  the  Spring  in  a  rheumatic  leg, 
Stiff  as  a  table's  ? 

I  limp  in  agony, — I  wheeze  and  cough ; 

And  quake  with  Ague,  that  great  Agitator ; 
Nor  dream,  before  July,  of  leaving  off 

My  Respirator. 

What  wonder  if  in  May  itself  I  lack 
A  peg  for  laudatory  verse  to  hang  on  ? — 

Spring  mild  and  gentle  ! — yes,  a  Spring-heeled  Jack 
To  those  he  sprang  on. 

In  short,  whatever  panegyrics  lie 

In  fulsome  odes  too  many  to  be  cited, 

The  tenderness  of  Spring  is  all  my  eye, 
And  that  is  blighted  ! 


THE   MUSIC-GRINDERS. 

HOLMES. 
THERE  are  three  ways  in  which  men  take 

One's  money  from  his  purse, 
And  very  hard  it  is  to  tell 

Which  of  the  three  is  worse ; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  489 

But  all  of  them  are  bad  enough 
To  make  a  body  curse. 

You're  riding  out  some  pleasant  day, 

And  counting  up  your  gains  ; 
A  fellow  jumps  from  out  a  bush, 

And  takes  your  horse's  reins, 
Another  hints  some  words  about 

A  bullet  in  your  brains. 

It's  hard  to  meet  such  pressing  friends 

In  such  a  lonely  spot ; 
It's  very  hard  to  lose  your  cash, 

But  harder  to  be  shot ; 
And  so  you  take  your  wallet  out, 

Though  you  would  rather  not. 

Perhaps  you're  going  out  to  dine, — 

Some  filthy  creature  begs 
You'll  hear  about  the  cannon-ball 

That  carried  off  his  pegs, 
And  says  it  is  a  dreadful  thing 

For  men  to  lose  their  legs. 

He  tells  you  of  his  starving  wife, 

His  children  to  be  fed, 
Poor  little,  lovely  innocents, 

All  clamorous  for  bread, — 
And  so  you  kindly  help  to  put 

A  bachelor  to  bed. 

You're  sitting  on  your  window  seat 

Beneath  a  cloudless  moon  ; 
You  hear  a  sound  that  seems  to  wear 

The  semblance  of  a  tune, 
As  if  a  broken  fife  should  strive 

To  drown  a  cracked  bassoon. 

And  nearer,  nearer  still,  the  tide 

Of  music  seems  to  come, 
There's  something  like  a  human  voice, 

And  something  like  a  drum  ; 
You  sit  in  speechless  agony, 

Until  your  ear  is  numb. 


490          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Poor  "  home,  sweet  home,"  should  seein  to  be 

A  very  dismal  place  ; 
Your  "  auld  acquaintance,"  all  at  once, 

Is  altered  in  the  face ; 
Their  discords  sting  through  Burns  and  Moore, 

Like  hedgehogs  dressed  in  lace. 

You  think  they  are  crusaders,  sent 

From  some  infernal  clime, 
To  pluck  the  eyes  of  Sentiment, 

And  dock  the  tail  of  Rhyme, 
To  crack  the  voice  of  Melody, 

And  break  -the  legs  of  Time. 

But  hark !  the  air  again  is  still, 

The  music  all  is  ground, 
And  silence,  like  a  poultice,  comes 

To  heal  the  blows  of  sound ; 
It  cannot  be, — it  is, — it  is, — 

A  hat  is  going  round ! 

No !     Pay  the  dentist  when  he  leaves 

A  fracture  in  your  jaw; 
And  pay  the  owner  of  the  bear, 

That  stunned  you  with  his  paw, 
And  buy  the  lobster,  that  has  had 

Your  knuckles  in  his  claw ; 

But  if  you  are  a  portly  man, 

Put  on  your  fiercest  frown, 
And  talk  about  a  constable 

To  turn  them  out  of  town  ; 
Then  close  your  sentence  with  an  oath. 

And  shut  the  window  down  ! 

And  if  yoti  are  a  slender  man, 

Not  big  enough  for  that, 
Or,  if  you  cannot  make  a  speech, 

Because  you  are  a  flat, 
Go  very  quietly  and  drop 

A  button  in  the  hat ! 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  49l 

A    PARENTAL    ODE   TO    MY   SON,    AGED   THREE  YEARS    AND 

FIVE    MONTHS. 

THOS.  HOOD. 

THOU  happy,  happy  elf! 
(But  stop — first  let  me  kiss  away  that  tear) — 

Thou  tiny  image  of  myself! 
(My  love,  he's  poking  peas  into  his  ear !) 

Thou  merry,  laughing  sprite  ! 

With  spirits  feather-light, 
Untouched  by  sorrow,  and  unsoiled  by  sin — 
(Good  heavens  ! — the  child  is  swallowing  a  pin  !) 

Thou  little  tricksy  Puck  ! 
With  antic  toys  so  funnily  bestuck, 
Light  as  the  singing  bird  that  wings  the  air — 
(The  door !  the  door  !  he'll  tumble  down  the  stair !) 

Thou  darling  of  thy  sire ! 
(Why,  Jane,  he'll  set  his  pinafore  afire  !) 

Thou  imp  of  mirth  and  joy ! 
In  Love's  dear  chain  so  strong  and  bright  a  link, 
Thou  idol  of  thy  parents — (Drat  the  boy  1 

There  goes  my  ink  !) 

• 
Thou  cherub — but  of  earth ; 

Fit  playfellow  for  Fays,  by  moonlight  pale, 

In  harmless  sport  and  mirth, 
(That  dog  will  bite  him  if  he  pulls  its  tail !) 

Thou  human  humming-bee,  extracting  honey 
From  every  blossom  in  the  world  that  blows, 

Singing  in  youth's  elysium  ever  sunny, 
(Another  tumble! — that's  his  precious  nose!) 

Thy  father's  pride  and  hope  ! 
(He'll  break  the  mirror  with  that  skipping-rope !) 
With  pure  heart  newly  stamped  from  Nature's  mint— 
(Where  did  he  learn  that  squint  ?) 

Thou  young  domestic  dove  ! 
(He'll  have  that  jug  off,  with  another  shove  !) 

Dear  nursling  of  the  Hymeneal  nest ! 

(Are  those  torn  clothes  his  best?) 

Little  epitome  of  man  ! 

(He'll  climb  upon  the  table,  that's  his  plan !) 
Touched  with  the  beauteous  tints  of  dawning  life — 

(He's  got  a  knife!) 


492          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Thou  enviable  being ! 
No  storms,  no  clouds,  in  thy  blue  sky  foreseeing, 

Play  on,  play  on, 

My  elfin  John  1 

Toss  the  light  ball — bestride  the  stick — 
(I  knew  so  many  cakes  would  make  him  sick!) 
With  fancies,  buoyant  as  the  thistle-down, 
Prompting  the  face  grotesque,  and  antic  brisk, 

With  many  a  lamb-like  frisk, 
(He's  got  the  scissors,  snipping  at  your  gown !) 

Thou  pretty  opening  rose ! 

(Go  to  your  mother,  child,  and  wipe  your  nose !) 
Balmy  and  breathing  music  like  the  South, 
(He  really  brings  my  heart  into  my  mouth !) 
Fresh  as  the  morn,  and  brilliant  as  its  star — 
(I  wish  that  window  had  an  iron  bar !) 
Bold  as  the  hawk,  yet  gentle  as  the  dove — 

(I'll  tell  you  what,  my  love, 
I  cannot  write,  unless  he's  sent  above !) 


PROVINCIAL  SPEECH. 

0-  W.  HOLJttS. 

SOME  words  on  LANGUAGE  may  be  well  applied, 
And  take  them  kindly,  though  they  touch  your  pride ; 
Words  lead  to  things  ;  a  scale  is  more  precise, — 
Coarse  speech,  bad  grammar,  swearing,  drinking,  vice. 

Our  cold  Northeaster's  icy  fetter  clips 
The  native  freedom  of  the  Saxon  lips ; 
See  the  brown  peasant  of  the  plastic  South, 
How  all  his  passions  play  about  his  mouth ! 
With  us,  the  feature  that  transmits  the  soul, 
A  frozen,  passive,  palsied  breathing-hole. 
The  crampy  shackles  of  the  ploughboy's  walk 
Tie  the  small  muscles  when  he  strives  to  talk ; 
Not  all  the  pumice  of  the  polished  town 
Can  smooth  this  roughness  of  the  barnyard  down ; 
Rich,  honored,  titled,  he  betrays  his  race 
By  this  one  mark, — he's  awkward  in  the  face ; — 
Nature's  rude  impress,  long  before  he  knew 
The  sunny  street  that  holds  the  sifted  few. 

It  can't  be  helped,  though,  if  we're  taken  young, 
We  gain  some  freedom  of  the  lips  and  tongue; 


RECITATIONS  IN  POETRY.  493 

But  school  and  college  often  try  in  vain 
To  break  the  padlock  of  our  boyhood's  chain  ; 
One  stubborn  word  will  prove  this  axiom  true  ; — 
No  quondam  rustic  can  enunciate  view. 

'  A  few  brief  stanzas  may  be  well  employed 
To  speak  of  errors  we  can  all  avoid. 

Learning  condemns  beyond  the  reach  of  hope 
The  careless  lips  that  speak  of  soap  for  soap ; 
Her  edict  exiles  from  her  fair  abode 
The  clownish  voice  that  utters  road  for  road  ; 
Less  stern  to  him  who  calls  his  coat  a  coat, 
And  steers  his  boat,  believing  it  a  boat, 
She  pardoned  one,  our  classic  city's  boast, 
Who  said  at  Cambridge,  most  instead  of  most, 
But  knit  her  brows  and  stamped  her  angry  foot 
To  hear  a  Teacher  call  a  root  a  root. 

Once  more  ;  speak  clearly,  if  you  speak  at  all ; 
Carve  every  word  before  you  let  it  fall ; 
Don't,  like  a  lecturer  or  dramatic  star, 
Try  over  hard  to  roll  the  British  R ; 
Do  put  your  accents  in  the  proper  spot ; 
Don't,— let  me  beg  you,— don't  say  "  How?"  for  "  What?" 
And,  when  you  stick  on  conversation's  burs, 
Don't  strew  your  pathway  with  those  dreadful  urs. 

From  "  Urania." 


A   RHYMED   LESSON. 

0.  W.  HOLMES. 

FROM  little  matters  let  us  pass  to  less, 
And  lightly  touch  the  mysteries  of  dress ;    • 
The  outward  forms  the  inner  man  reveal, — 
We  guess  the  pulp  before  we  cut  the  peel. 

I  leave  the  broadcloth, — coats  and  all  the  rest, — 
The  dangerous  waistcoat,  called  by  cockneys  "vest," 
The  things  named  "  pants"  in  certain  documents, 
A  word  not  made  for  gentlemen,  but  "gents"  ; 
One  single  precept  might  the  whole  condense : 
Be  sure  your  tailor  is  a  man  of  sense ; 
But  add  a  little  care,  a  decent  pride, 
And  always  err  upon  the  sober  side. 

Wear  seemly  gloves  ;  not  black,  nor  yet  too  light, 
And  least  of  all  the  pair  that  once  was  white ; 
42 


494  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Let  the  dead  party  where  you  told  your  loves 
Bury  in  peace  its  dead  bouquets  and  gloves ; 
Shave  like  the  goat,  if  so  your  fancy  bids, 
But  be  a  parent, — don't  neglect  your  kids. 

Have  a  good  hat ;  the  secret  of  your  looks 
Lives  with  the  beaver  in  Canadian  brooks ; 
Virtue  may  flourish  in  an  old  cravat, 
But  man  and  nature  scorn  the  shocking  hat. 
Does  beauty  slight  you  from  her  gay  abodes  ? 
Like  bright  Apollo,  you  must  take  to  Rhoades, 
Mount  the  new  castor, — ice  itself  will  melt ; 
Boots,  gloves  may  fail ;  the  hat  is  always  felt ! 

Our  freeborn  race,  averse  to  every  check, 
Has  tossed  the  yoke  of  Europe  from  its  neck ; 
From  the  green  prairie  to  the  sea-girt  town, 
The  whole  wide  nation  turns  its  collars  down. 

The  stately  neck  is  manhood's  manliest  part ; 
It  takes  the  life-blood  freshest  from  the  heart ; 
With  short,  curled  ringlets  close  around  it  spread, 
How  light  and  strong  it  lifts  the  Grecian  head ! 
Thine,  fair  Erectheus  of  Minerva's  wall ; — 
Or  thine,  young  athlete  of  the  Louvre's  hall, 
Smooth  as  the  pillar  flashing  in  the  sun 
That  filled  the  arena  where  thy  wreaths  were  won — 
Firm  as  the  band  that  clasps  the  antlered  spoil 
Strained  in  the  winding  anaconda's  coil ! 
I  spare  the  contrast ;  it  were  only  kind 
To  be  a  little,  nay,  intensely  blind : 
Choose  for  yourself:  I  know  it  cuts  your  ear  ; 
I  know  the  points  will  sometimes  interfere  ; 
I  know  that  often,  like  the  filial  John, 
Whom  sleep  surprised  with  half  his  drapery  on, 
You  show  your  features  to  the  astonished  town 
With  one  side  standing  and  the  other  down  ; — 
But,  0  my  friend  !  my  favorite  fellow-man  ! 
If  Nature  made  you  on  her  modern  plan, 
Sooner  than  wander  with  your  windpipe  bare, — 
The  fruit  of  Eden  ripening  in  the  air, — 
With  that  lean  head-stalk,  that  protruding  chin 
Wear  standing  collars,  were  they  made  of  tin  ! 
And  have  a  neck-cloth, — by  the  throat  of  Jove ! 
Cut  from  the  funnel  of  a  rusty  stove  ! 


From  "  Urania." 


PAET  III. 
THE    DRAMA. 


SOLILOQUIES  AND  MONOLOGUES. 

MANFKED. — THE  INVOCATION. 

BYRON. 

IT  is  noon — the  sunbow's  rays  still  arch 
The  torrent  with  the  many  hues  of  heaven, 
And  roll  the  sheeted  silver's  waving  column 
O'er  the  crag's  headlong  perpendicular, 
And  tiing  its  lines  of  foaming  light  along, 
And  to  and  fro,  like  the  pale  courser's  tail, 
The  Giant  steed,  to  be  bestrode  by  death, 
As  told  in  the  Apocalypse.     No  eyes 
But  mine  now  drink  this  sight  of  loveliness  ; 
I  should  be  sole  in  this  sweet  solitude, 
And  with  the  Spirit  of  the  place  divide 
The  homage  of  these  waters — I  will  call  her. 
Beautiful  Spirit !  with  thy  hair  of  light, 
And  dazzling  eyes  of  glory,  in  whose  form 
The  charms  of  earth's  least-mortal  daughters  grow 
To  an  unearthly  stature,  in  an  essence 
Of  purer  elements ;  while  the  hues  of  youth, — 
Carnationed  like  a  sleeping  infant's  cheek, 
Rocked  by  the  beating  of  her  mother's  heart, 
Or  the  rose  tints,  which  summer's  twilight  leaves 
Upon  the  lofty  glacier's  virgin  snow, 
The  blush  of  earth  embracing  with  her  heaven — 
Tinge  thy  celestial  aspect,  and  make  tame 
The  beauties  of  the  sunbow  which  bends  o'er  thee. 
Beautiful  Spirit !  in  thy  calm  clear  brow, 
Wherein  is  glassed  serenity  of  soul, 
Which  of  itself  shows  immortality, 
I  read  that  thou  wilt  pardon  to  a  Son 
Of  earth,  whom1  the  abstruser  powers  permit 
At  times  to  commune  with  them — if  that  he 
Avail  him  of  his  spells — to  call  thee  thus, 

And  gaze  on  thee  a  moment. 

From  "Manfred." 

(495) 


496  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

MACBETH'S  SOLILOQUY. 

SHAKSPEARS. 

IF  it  were  done,  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well 
It  were  done  quickly :  If  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch 
With  his  surcease,  success ;  that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here, 
But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time — 
We'd  jump  the  life  to  come. — But  in  these  cases, 
We  still  have  judgment  here ;  that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor:  This  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poisoned  chalice 
To  our  own  lips.     He's  here  in  double  trust: 
First,  as  I  am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject, 
Strong  both  against  the  deed  ;  then,  as  his  host, 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door, 
Not  bear  the  knife  myself.     Besides,  this  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tougued,  against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-off: 
And  pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe, 
Striding  the  blast,  or  heaven's  cherubim,  horsed 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air, 
Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye, 
That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind. — I  have  no  spur 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
Vaulting  ambition,  which  o'er-leaps  itself, 
And  falls  on  the  other. 

From 


BELESES'   ADDRESS   TO   THE    SUN. 

BYRON. 

THE  sun  goes  down  :  methinks  he  sets  more  slowly, 
Taking  his  last  look  of  Assyria's  empire  ; 
How  red  he  glares  amongst  those  deepening  clouds 
Like  the  blood  he  predicts !     If  not  in  vain, 
Thou  sun  that  sinkest,  and  ye  stars  which  rise, 
I  have  outwatched  you,  reading  ray  by  ray 
The  edicts  of  your  orbs,  which  make  Time  tremble 
For  what  he  brings  the  nations,  'tis  the  furthest 
Hour  of  Assyria's  years.     And  jet  how  calm  ! 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  497 

An  earthquake  should  announce  so  great  a  fall — 

A  summer's  sun  discloses  it.     Yon  disk, 

To  the  star-read  Chaldean,  bears  upon 

Its  everlasting  page  the  end  of  what 

Seemed  everlasting  ;  but  oh  !  thou  true  sun  ! 

The  burning  oracle  of  all  that  live, 

As  fountain  of  all  life,  and  symbol  of 

Him  who  bestows  it,  wherefore  dost  thou  limit 

Thy  lore  unto  calamity  ?     Why  not 

Unfold  the  rise  of  days  more  worthy  thine 

All  glorious  burst  from  ocean  ?  why  not  dart 

A  beam  of  hope  athwart  the  future  years, 

As  of  wrath  to  its  days  ?     Hear  me  !  oh !  hear  me ! 

I  am  thy  worshipper,  thy  priest,  thy  servant — 

I  have  gazed  on  thee  at  thy  rise  and  fall, 

And  bowed  my  head  beneath  thy  mid-day  beams, 

When  my  eye  dared  not  meet  thee.     I  have  watched 

For  thee,  and  after  thee,  and  prayed  to  thee, 

And  sacrificed  to  thee,  and  read,  and  feared  thee, 

And  asked  of  thee,  and  thou  hast  answered — but 

Only  to  thus  much :  while  I  speak,  he  sinks — 

Is  gone — and  leaves  his  beauty,  not  his  knowledge, 

To  the  delighted  west,  which  revels  in 

Its  hues  of  dying  glory.     Yet  what  is 

Death,  so  it  be  but  glorious  ?     'Tis  a  sunset ; 

And  mortals  may  be  happy  to  resemble 

The  gods  but  in  decay. 

From  "  Sardanapalus." 


THE   TWO   KINGS. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

LOOK  here,  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this ; 
The  counterfeit  presentment  of  two  brothers. 
See,  what  a  grace  was  seated  on  this  brow : 
Hyperion's  curls ;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command ; 
A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury, 
New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill ; 
A  combination,  and  a  form,  indeed, 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man : 
This  was  your  husband. — Look  you  now,  what  follows: 
Here  is  your  husband ;  like  a  mildewed  ear, 
Blasting  his  wholesome  brother.     Have  you  eyes? 
42*  21 


498  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Could  }TOU  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed, 

And  batten  on  this  moor  ?     Ha  !  have  you  eyes  ? 

You  cannot  call  it  love :  for,  at  your  age, 

The  hey-day  in  the  blood  is  tame,  it's  humble, 

And  waits  upon  the  judgment;  And  what  judgment 

Would  step  from  this  to  this  ?     Sense,  sure,  you  have, 

Else,  could  you  not  have  motion  :  But  sure,  that  sense 

Is  apoplexed  :  for  madness  would  not  err  ; 

Nor  sense  to  ecstasy  was  ne'er  so  thralled, 

But  it  reserved  some  quantity  of  choice, 

To  serve  in  such  a  difference.     What  devil  was't, 

That  thus  hath  cozened  you  at  hoodman-blind? 

Eyes  without  feeling,  feeling  without  sight, 

Ears  without  hands  or  eyes,  smelling  sans  all, 

Or  but  a  sickly  part  of  one  true  sense 

Could  not  so  mope. 

0  shame  !  where  is  thy  blush  ?     Rebellious  hell, 

If  thou  canst  mutine  in  a  matron's  bones, 

To  flaming  youth  let  virtue  be  as  wax, 

And  melt  in  her  own  fire :  proclaim  no  shame, 

When  the  compulsive  ardor  gives  the  charge ; 

Since  frost  itself  as  actively  doth  burn, 

And  reason  panders  will. 


From  "  Hamlet?' 


FALSTAFF'S  SOLDIERS. 

SHA.KSPEABE. 

IF  I  be  not  ashamed  of  my  soldiers,  I  am  a  soused  gurnet.  I  have 
misused  the  king's  press  damnably.  I  have  got,  in  exchange  of  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  soldiers,  three  hundred  and  odd  pounds.  I  press  me 
none  but  good  householders,  yeomen's  sons :  inquire  me  out  contracted 
bachelors,  such  as  had  been  asked  twice  on  the  bans ;  such  a  commo- 
dity of  warm  slaves,  as  had  as  lief  hear  the  devil  as  a  drum  ;  such  as 
fear  the  report  of  a  caliver,  worse  than  a  struck  fowl,  or  a  hurt  wild- 
duck.  I  pressed  me  none  but  such  toasts  and  butter,  with  hearts  in 
their  bellies  no  bigger  than  pins'  heads,  and  they  have  bought  out 
their  services ;  and  now  my  whole  charge  consists  of  ancients,  corpo- 
rals, lieutenants,  gentlemen  of  companies,  slaves  as  ragged  as  Lazarug 
in  the  painted  cloth,  where  the  glutton's  dogs  licked  his  sores:  and 
such  as,  indeed,  were  never  soldiers ;  but  discarded  unjust  serving- 
men,  younger  sons  to  younger  brothers,  revolted  tapsters,  and  ostlers 
trade-fallen  ;  the  cankers  of  a  calm  world,  and  a  long  peace  ;  ten  times 
more  dishonorable  ragged  than  an  old  faced  ancient :  and  such  have  I, 
to  fill  up  the  rooms  of  them  that  have  bought  out  their  services,  that 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA,  499 

you  would  think,  that  I  had  a  hundred  and  fifty  tattered  prodigals, 
lately  come  from  swine  keeping,  from  eating  draff  and  husks.  A  mad 
'fellow  met  me  on  the  way,  and  told  me  I  had  unloaded  all  the  gibbets, 
and  pressed  the  dead  bodies.  No  eye  hath  seen  such  scare-crows.  I'll 
not  march  through  Coventry  with  them,  that's  flat ; — Nay,  and  the  vil- 
lains march  wide  betwixt  the  legs,  as  if  they  had  gyves  on  ;  for,  indeed, 
I  had  the  most  of  them  out  of  prison.  There's  but  a  shirt  and  a  half 
in  all  my  company ;  and  the  half-shirt  is  two  napkins,  tacked  together, 
and  thrown  over  the  shoulders  like  a  herald's  coat  without  sleeves ; 
and  the  shirt,  to  say  the  truth,  stolen  from  my  host  at  Saint  Albans,  or 
the  red-nose  inn-keeper  of  Daintry :  But  that's  all  one ;  they  '11  find 
linen  enough  on  every  hedge. 

From  "King  Henry  IV" 


POLONIUS   TO   LAERTES. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

YET  here,  Laertes  !  aboard,  aboard,  for  shame  ; 

The  wind  sits  in  the  shoulder  of  your  sail, 

And  you  are  staid  for  :  There,  my  blessing  with  you  1 

And  these  few  precepts  in  thy  memory 

Look  thou  character.     Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue, 

Nor  any  unproportioned  thought  his  act.  • 

Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 

The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 

Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel ; 

But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 

Of  each  new-hatched,  unfledged,  comrade.     Beware 

Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel:  but,  being  in, 

Bear  it,  that  the  opposer  may  beware  of  thee. 

Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice : 

Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 

Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy, 

But  not  expressed  in  fancy  :  rich,  not  gaudy : 

For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man  ; 

And  they  in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  station, 

Are  most  select  and  generous,  chief  in  that. 

Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be : 

For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend ; 

And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 

This  above  all, — To  thine  ownself  be  true  ; 

And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 

Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

Farewell ;  my  blessing  season  this  in  thee  ! 

From  '•  Hamlet" 


500  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

THE   LADY  IN   COMUS. 

MILTON. 
SOME  say  no  evil  thing  that  walks  by  night, 

In  fog,  or  fire,  by  lake,  or  moorish  fen, 
Blue  meagre  hag,  or  stubborn  unlaid  ghost, 
That  breaks  his  magic  chains  at  curfew  time, 
No  goblin,  or  swart  faery  of  the  mine, 
Hath  hurtful  power  o'er  true  virginity. 
Do  ye  believe  me  yet,  or  shall  I  call 
Antiquity  from  the  old  schools  of  Greece 
To  testify  the  arms  of  chastity  ? 
Hence  had  the  huntress  Dian  her  dread  bow, 
Fair  silver-shafted  queen,  for  ever  chaste, 
Wherewith  she  tamed  the  brinded  lioness 
And  spotted  mountain  pard,  and  set  at  nought 
The  frivolous  bolt  of  Cupid  ;  Gods  and  men 
Feared  her  stern  frown,  and  she  was  queen  o'  th'  woods. 
What  was  that  snaky-headed  Gorgon  shield, 
That  wise  Minerva  wore,  unconquered  virgin, 
Wherewith  she  freezed  her  foes  to  congealed  stone, 
But  rigid  looks  of  chaste  austerity, 
And  noble  grace  that  dashed  brute  violence 
«      With  sudden  adoration  and  blank  awe? 
So  dear  to  heaven  is  saintly  chastity, 
That  when  a  soul  is  found  sincerely  so, 
A  thousand  liveried  angels  lacky  her, 
Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt, 
And  in  clear  dream,  and  solemn  vision, 
Tell  her  of  things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear, 
Till  oft  converse  with  heavenly  habitants 
Begin  to  cast  a  beam  on  th'  outward  shape, 
The  unpolluted  temple  of  the  mind, 
And  turns  it  by  degrees  to  the  soul's  essence, 

Till  all  be  made  immortal. 

From  "  Oomus." 


THE  STUDENT'S  REVERIE. 

LONGFELLOW. 
GOOD  night ! 

But  not  to  bed ;  for  I  must  read  awhile. 
Must  read,  or  sit  in  reverie  and  watch 
The  changing  color  of  the  waves  that  break 
Upon  the  idle  sea-shore  of  the  mind ! 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA,  501 

Visions  of  Fame !  that  once  did  visit  me, 

Making  night  glorious  with  your  smile,  where  are  ye  ? 

0,  who  shall  give  me,  now  that  ye  are  gone,    - 

Juices  of  those  immortal  plants  that  bloom 

Upon  Olympus,  making  us  immortal? 

Or  teach  me  where  that  wondrous  mandrake  grows 

Whose  magic  root,  torn  from  the  earth  with  groans, 

At  midnight  hour,  can  scare  the  fiends  away, 

And  make  the  mind  prolific  in  its  fancies  ? 

I  have  the  wish,  but  want  the  will,  to  act ! 

Souls  of  great  men  departed !     Ye  whose  words 

Have  come  to  light  from  the  swift  river  of  Time, 

Like  Roman  swords  found  in  the  Tagus'  bed, 

Where  is  the  strength  to  wield  the  arms  ye  bore? 

From  the  barred  visor  of  Antiquity 

Reflected  shines  the  eternal  light  of  Truth, 

As  from  a  mirror !     All  the  means  of  action — 

The  shapeless  masses — the  materials — 

Lie  everywhere  about  us.     What  we  need 

Is  the  celestial  fire  to  change  the  flint 

Into  transparent  crystal,  bright  and  clear. 

That  fire  is  genius  !     The  rude  peasant  sits 

At  evening  in  his  smoky  cot,  and  draws 

With  charcoal  uncouth  figures  on  the  wall. 

The  son  of  genius  comes,  foot-sore  with  travel, 

And  begs  a  shelter  from  the  inclement  night. 

He  takes  the  charcoal  from  the  peasant's  hand, 

And,  by  the  magic  of  his  touch  at  once 

Transfigured,  all  its  hidden  virtues  shine, 

And,  in  the  eyes  of  the  astonished  clown, 

It  gleams  a  diamond  I     Even  thus  transformed, 

Rude  popular  traditions  and  old  tales 

Shine  as  immortal  poems,  at  the  touch 

Of  some  poor,  houseless,  wandering  bard, 

Who  had  but  a  night's  lodging  for  his  pains. 

But  there  are  brighter  dreams  than  those  of  Fame, 

Which  are  the  dreams  of  Love !     Out  of  the  heart 

Rises  the  bright  ideal  of  these  dreams, 

As  from  some  woodland  fount  a  spirit  rises 

And  sinks  again  into  its  silent  deeps, 

Ere  the  enamored  knight  can  touch  her  robe ! 

'T  is  this  ideal  that  the  soul  of  man, 

Like  the  enamored  knight  beside  the  fountain, 

Waits  for  upon  the  margin  of  Life's  stream; 


502  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Waits  to  behold  her  rise  from  the  dark  waters, 

Clad  in  a  mortal  shape  !     Alas  !   how  many 

Must  wait  in  vain  !     The  stream  flows  evermore. 

But  from  its  silent  deeps  no  spirit  rises  ! 

Yet  I,  born  under  a  propitious  star, 

Have  found  the  bright  ideal  of  my  dreams. 

Yes  !  she  is  ever  with  me.     I  can  feel, 

Here,  as  I  sit  at  midnight  and  alone, 

Her  gentle  breathing !   on  my  breast  can  feel 

The  pressure  of  her  head  !     God's  benison 

Rest  ever  on  it !     Close  those  beauteous  eyes, 

Sweet  Sleep  !  and  all  the  flowers  that  bloom  at  night 

With  balmy  lips  breathe  in  her  ears  my  name ! 


From  "  The  Spanish  Student:' 


JAQUES7   FOOL. 

SHAKSPEARE, 

I  MET  a  fool  in  the  forest, 
A  motley  fool ; — a  miserable  world  ! — 
As  I  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool ; 
Who  laid  him  down  and  basked  him  in  the  sun, 
And  railed  on  Lady  Fortune  in  good  terms, 
In  good  set  terms, — and  yet  a  motley  fool. 
Good-morrow,  fool,  quoth  I :  No,  sir,  quoth  he, 
Call  me  not  fool,  till  heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune: 
And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke : 
And  looking  on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye, 
Says,  very  wisely,  It  is  ten  o'clock : 
Thus  may  we  see,  quoth  he,  how  the  world  wags  : 
'Tis  but  an  hour  ago,  since  it  was  nine; 
And  after  an  hour  more,  'twill  be  eleven  ; 
And  so,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  ripe  and  ripe, 
And  then,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  rot  and  rot, 
And  thereby  hangs  a  tale.     When  I  did  hear 
The  motley  fool  thus  moral  on  the  time, 
My  lungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer, 
That  fools  should  be  so  deep  contemplative  ; 
And  I  did  laugh,  sans  intermission, 
An  hour  by  his  dial. — 0  noble  fool ! 
A  worthy  fool !     Motley's  the  only  wear. 

From  "As  you  like  it." 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  503 

CASSIUS   TO   BKUTUS. 

SHAKSPEAKE. 

THIS  Cassar  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world, 
Like  a  Colossus ;  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dishonorable  graves. 
Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates : 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus,  and  Caesar :  What  should  be  in  that  Caesar  ? 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy  ;  conjure  with  them, 
Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Caesar. 
Now  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great  ?     Age,  thou  art  shamed : 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods  1 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man  ? 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talked  of  Rome, 
That  her  wide  walks  encompassed  but  one  man  ? 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 
When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man. 
0 !  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say 
There  was  a  Brutus  once,  that  would  have  brooked 
The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 

As  easily  as  a  king. 

From  "  Julius  Ctesar." 


EAKTH'S  REGENERATION. 

BAILEY. 

HEAVEN'S  beauty  grows  on  us  ; 
And  when  the  elder  worlds  have  ta'en  their  seats 
Come  the  divine  ones,  gathering  one  by  one,        / 
And  family  by  family,  with  still 
And  holy  air,  into  the  house  of  God — 
The  house  of  light  He  hath  builded  for  Himself 
And  worship  Him  in  silence  and  in  sadness, 
Immortal  and  immovable.     And  there, 
Night  after  night,  they  meet  to  worship  God. 
For  us  this  witness  of  the  worlds  is  given, 


504  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

That  we  may  add  ourselves  to  their  great  glory, 
And  worship  with  them.     They  are  there  for  lights 
To  light  us  on  our  way  through  heaven  to  God ; 
And  we,  too,  have  the  power  of  light  in  us. 
Ye  stars,  how  bright  ye  shine  to-night ;  mayhap 
Ye  are  the  resurrection  of  the  worlds, — 
Glorified  globes  of  light !  Shall  ours  be  like  ye  ? 
Nay,  but  it  is !  this  wild,  dark  earth  of  ours, 
Whose  face  is  furrowed  like  a  losing  gamester's, 
Is  shining  round,  and  bright,  and  smooth  in  air, 
Millions  of  miles  off.     Not  a  single  path 
Of  thought  I  tread,  but  that  it  leads  to  God. 
-    And  when  her  time  is  out,  and  earth  again 
Hath  travailed  with  the  divine  dust  of  man, 
Then  the  world's  womb  shall  open,  and  her  sons 
Be  born  again,  all  glorified  immortals. 
And  she,  their  mother,  purified  by  fire, 
Shall  sit  her  down  in  heaven,  a  bride  of  God, 
And  handmaid  of  the  Everbeing  One. 
Our  earth  is  learning  all  accomplishments 
To  fit  her  for  her  bridehood. 

From  «'  Festus.'- 


BULWEH. 

THINK 


Of  the  bright  lands  within  the  western  main, 
Where  we  will  build  our  home,  what  time  the  seas 
Weary  thy  gaze  ; — there  the  broad  palm-tree  shades 
The  soft  and  delicate  light  of  skies  as  fair 
As  those  that  slept  on  Eden  ; — Nature,  there, 
Like  a  gay  spendthrift  in  his  flush  of  youth, 
Flings  her  whole  treasure  in  the  lap  of  Time. — 
On  turfs,  by  fairies  trod,  the  Eternal  Flora 
Spreads  all  her  blooms ;  and  from  a  lake-like  sea 
Wooes  to  her  odorous  haunts  the  western  wind ! 
While,  circling  round  and  upward  from  the  boughs, 
Golden  with  fruits  that  lure  the  joyous  birds, 
Melody,  like  a  happy  soul  released, 
Hangs  in  the  air,  and  from  invisible  plumes 
Shakes  sweetness  down  ! — 

Lady, 

Ye  who  have  dwelt  upon  the  sordid  land, 
Amidst  the  everlasting  gloomy  war 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  505 

Of  Poverty  with  Wealth — ye  cannot  know 
How  we,  the  wild  sons  of  the  Ocean,  mock 
At  men  who  fret  out  life  with  care  for  gold. 

0  !  the  fierce  sickness  of  the  soul — to  see 

Love  bought  and  sold — and  all  the  heaven-roofed  temple 
Of  God's  great  globe,  the  money-change  of  Mammon ! 

1  dream  of  love,  enduring  faith,  a  heart 
Mingled  with  mine — a  deathless  heritage 
Which  I  can  take  unsullied  to  the  stars, 
When  the  Great  Father  calls  his  children  home ; 
And  in  the  midst  of  this  Elysian  dream, 

Lo,  Gold — the  Demon  Gold  ! — alas  I  the  creeds 
Of  the  false  land  !— 

From  "  The  Sea  Captain? 


TELL'S  EEFUSAL  OF  HOMAGE  TO  GESLEB'S  CAP. 

KNOWLES. 

Tell.     (Rushing  forward.}     Off,  off,  you  base  and  hireling  pack! 
Lay  not  your  brutal  touch  upon  the  thing 
God  made  in  his  own  image.     Crouch  yourselves ; 
;Tis  your  vocation,  which  you  should  not  call 
On  free-born  men  to  share  with  you — who  stand 
Erect  except  in  presence  of  their  God 
Alone ! 

Let  them  stir — I've  scattered 

A  flock  of  wolves  that  did  outnumber  them —          ^ 
For  sport  I  did  it — Sport ! — I  scattered  them 
With  but  a  staff,  not  half  so  thick  as  this. 

[Wrests  Sarnem's  weapon  from  liim — Sarnem  flies — Soldiers  fly 
Men  of  Altorf, 

What  fear  ye  ?     See  what  things  you  fear — the  shows 
And  surfaces  of  men.     Why  stand  you  wondering  there  ? 
Why  look  you  on  a  man  that's  like  yourselves, 
And  see  him  do  the  deeds  yourselves  might  do, 
And  act  them  not  ?    Or  know  you  not  yourselves 
That  ye  are  men — that  ye  have  hearts  and  thoughts 
To  feel  and  think  the  deeds  of  men,  and  hands 
To  do  them  ?     You  say  your  prayers,  and  make 
Confession,  and  you  more  do  fear  the  thing 
That  kneels  to  God,  than  you  fear  God  himself! 
You  hunt  the  chamois,  and  you've  seen  him  take 
The  precipice,  before  he'd  yield  the  freedom 
His  Maker  gave  him — and  you  are  content 
43 


506  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

To  live  in  bonds,  that  have  a  thought  of  freedom 
Which  heaven  never  gave  the  little  chamois. 
Why  gaze  you  still  with  blanched  cheeks  upon  me  ? 
Lack  you  the  manhood  even  to  look  on, 
And  see  bold  deeds  achieved  by  others'  hands  ? 
Or  is't  that  cap  still  holds  you  thralls  to  fear  ? — 
Be  free,  then— There  !     Thus  do  I  trample  on 
The  insolence  of  Gesler.     [Throws  down  the  pole. ~\ 

From  "  William  Tell.'1 


KICHELIEU'S   SOLILOQUY. 

BTJLY 
"  IN  silence,  and  at  night,  the  Conscience  feel? 

That  life  should  soar  to  nobler  ends  than  Power." 
So  sayest  thou,  sage  and  sober  moralist ! 
But  wert  thou  tried  ?     Sublime  Philosophy, 
Thou  art  the  Patriarch's  ladder,  reaching  heaven, 
And  bright  with  beckoning  angels — but,  alas  ! 
We  see  thee,  like  the  Patriarch,  but  in  dreams, 
By  the  first  step — dull-slumbering  on  the  earth. 
I  am  not  happy ! — with  the  Titan's  lust 
I  wooed  a  goddess,  and  I  clasp  a  cloud. 
When  I  am  dust,  my  name  shall,  like  a  star, 
Shine  through  wan  space,  a  glory — and  a  prophet 
Whereby  pale  seers  shall  from  their  aery  towers 
Con  all  the  ominous  signs,  benign  or  evil, 
That  make  the  potent  astrologue  of  kings. 
But  shall  the  Future  judge  me  by  the  ends 
That  I  have  wrought — or  by  the  dubious  means 
Through  which  the  stream  of  my  renown  hath  run 
Into  the  many-voiced  unfathomed  Time  ? 
Foul  in  its  bed  lie  weeds — and  heaps  of  slime, 
And  with  its  waves — when  sparkling  in  the  sun, 
Oft  times  the  secret  rivulets  that  swell 
Its  might  of  waters — blend  the  hues  of  blood. 
Yet  are  my  sins  not  those  of  circumstance, 
That  all-pervading  atmosphere,  wherein 
Our  spirits,  like  the  unsteady  lizard,  take 
The  tints  that  color,  and  the  food  that  nurtures  ? 
0 !  ye,  whose  hour-glass  shifts  its  tranquil  sands 
In  the  unvexed  silence  of  a  student's  cell ; 
Ye,  whose  untempted  hearts  have  never  tossed 
Upon  the  dark  and  stormy  tides  where  life 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  507 

Gives  battle  to  the  elements — and  man 

Wrestles  with  man  for  some  slight  plank,  whose  weight 

"Will  bear  but  one — while  round  the  desperate  wretch 

The  hungry  billows  roar — and  the  fierce  Fate, 

Like  some  huge  monster,  dim-seen  through  the  surf, 

Waits  him  who  drops  ; — ye  safe  and  formal  men, 

Who  write  the  deeds,  and  with  unfeverish  hand 

Weigh  in  nice  scales  the  motives  of  the  Great, 

Ye  cannot  know  what  ye  have  never  tried  ! 

History  preserves  only  the  fleshless  bones 

Of  what  we  are — and  by  the  mocking  skull 

The  would-be  wise  pretend  to  guess  the  features ! 

Without  the  roundness  and  the  glow  of  life 

How  hideous  is  the  skeleton  !     Without 

The  colorings  and  humanities  that  clothe 

Our  errors,  the  anatomists  of  schools 

Can  make  our  memory  hideous  ! 

I  have  wrought 

Great  uses  out  of  evil  tools — and  they 
In  the  time  to  come  may  bask  beneath  the  light 
Which  I  have  stolen  from  the  angry  gods, 
And  warn  their  sons  against  the  glorious  theft, 
Forgetful  of  the  darkness  which  it  broke. 
I  have  shed  blood — but  I  have  had  no  foes 
Save  those  the  state  had — if  my  wrath  was  deadly, 
'Tis  that  I  felt  my  country  in  my  veins, 
And  smote  her  sons  as  Brutus  smote  his  own. 
And  yet  I  am  not  happy — blanched  and  seared 
Before  my  time — breathing  an  air  of  hate, 
And  seeing  daggers  in  the  eyes  of  men, 
And  wasting  powers  that  shake  the  thrones  of  earth 
In  contest  with  the  insects — bearding  kings 
And  braved  by  lackies — murder  at  my  bed  ; 
And  lone  amidst  the  multitudinous  web, 
With  the  dread  Three— that  are  the  fates  who  hold 
The  woof  and  shears — the  Monk,  the  Spy,  the  Headsman. 
And  this  is  Power  !  Alas  !  I  am  not  happy. 


MUSIC   BY   MOONLIGHT. 

SHAKSPEARK. 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank* 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears ;  soft  stillness,  and  the  night, 


508  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 
Sit,  Jessica :  Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold  ; 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb,  which  thou  behold'st, 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubins : 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls  ; 
But,  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it. — 
Come,  ho,  and  wake  Diana  with  a  hymn  ; 
With  sweetest  touches  pierce  your  mistress'  ear, 
And  draw  her  home  with  music. 

You  are  never  merry,  when  you  hear  sweet  music. 

The  reason  is,  your  spirits  are  attentive : 

For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd, 

Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts, 

Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing,  and  neighing  loud, 

Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood ; 

If  they  but  hear  perchance  a  trumpet  s<~und, . 

Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears, 

You  shall  perceive  them  make  a  mutual  stand, 

Their  savage  eyes  turned  to  a  modest  gaze, 

By  the  sweet  power  of  music :  Therefore,  the  poet 

Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones,  and  floods  ; 

Since  nought  so  stockish,  hard,  and  full  of  rage, 

But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature : 

The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 

Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 

Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils  ; 

The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 

And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus : 

Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. — Mark  the  music. 

From  "  Merchant  of  Venice." 


BOLINGBKOKE'S  TEIUMPH. 

SHAKSPEARB. 

THE  duke,  great  Bolingbroke, 
Mounted  upon  a  hot  and  fiery  steed, 
Which  his  aspiring  rider  seemed  to  know, — 
With  slow,  but  stately  pace,  kept  on  his  course, 
While  all  tongues  cried — God  save  thee,  Bolingbroke ! 
You  would  have  thought  the  very  windows  spake, 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  509 

So  many  greedy  looks  of  young  and  old 
Through  casements  darted  their  desiring  eyes 
Upon  his  visage ;  and  that  all  the  walls, 
With  painted  imag'ry,  had  said  at  once, — 
Jesu  preserve  thee  !  welcome,  Bolingbroke  1 
Whilst  he,  from  one  side  to  the  other  turning, 
Bare-headed,  lower  than  his  proud  steed's  neck, 
Bespake  them  thus, — I  thank  you,  countrymen : 
And  thus  still  doing,  thus  he  passed  along. 

As  in  a  theatre,  the  eyes  of  men, 
After  a  well-graced  actor  leaves  the  stage, 
Are  idly  bent  on  him  that  enters  next, 
Thinking  his  prattle  to  be  tedious : 
Even  so,  or  with  much  more  contempt,  men's  eyes 
Did  scowl  on  Richard  ;  no  man  cried,  God  save  him ; 
No  joyful  tongue  gave  him  his  welcome  home: 
But  dust  was  thrown  upon  his  sacred  head ; 
Which  with  such  gentle  sorrow  he  shook  off, — 
His  face  still  combating  with  tears  and  smiles, 
The  badges  of  his  grief  and  patience, — 
That  had  not  God,  for  some  strong  purpose,  steeled, 
The  hearts  of  men,  they  must  perforce  have  melted, 
And  barbarism  itself  have  pitied  him. 
But  heaven  hath  a  hand  in  these  events ; 
To  whose  high  will  we  bound  our  calm  contents. 
To  Bolingbroke  are  we  sworn  subjects  now, 
Whose  state  and  honor  I  for  aye  allow. 

From  "  King  Richard  12." 


HOTSPUR  TO   KING  HENRY  IV. 

SHAKSPEARK. 
MY  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 

But,  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done, 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil, 
Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dressed, 
Fresh  as  a  bridegroom  ;  and  his  chin,  new  reaped, 
Showed  like  a  stubble-land  at  harvest-home ; 
He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner ; 
And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 
A  pouncet  box,  which  ever  and  anon 

He  gave  his  nose,  and  took't  away  again  ; 

Who,  therewith  angry,  when  it  next  came  there, 
43* 


510          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Took  it  in  snuff: — and  still  he  smiled  and  talked; 

And,  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 

He  called  them — untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 

To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 

Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 

With  many  holiday  and  lady  terms 

He  questioned  me ;  among  the  rest,  demanded 

My  prisoners,  in  your  majesty's  behalf. 

I  then,  all  smarting  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 

To  be  so  pestered  with  a  popinjay, 

Out  of  my  grief  and  my  impatience, 

Answered  neglectingly,  I  know  not  what ; 

He  should,  or  he  should  not ; — for  he  made  me  mad, 

To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 

And  talk  so  like  a  waiting-gentlewoman, 

Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds,  (God  save  the  mark!) 

And  telling  me,  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth 

Was  parmaceti,  for  an  inward  bruise ; 

And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 

That  villanous  salt-petre  should  be  digged 

Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 

Which  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroyed 

So  cowardly ;  and,  but  for  these  vile  guns, 

He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 

This  bald  unjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 

I  answered  indirectly,  as  I  said ; 

And,  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 

Come  current  for  an  accusation, 

Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty. 

From  «  King  Henry  IV" 


PROLOGUE  TO  ADDISON'S   CATO. 

POPE. 

To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art, 
To  raise  the  genius,  and  to  mend  the  heart ; 
To  make  mankind,  in  conscious  virtue  bold, 
Live  o'er  each  scene,  and  be  what  they  behold : 
For  this,  the  tragic  muse  first  trod  the  stage ; 
Commanding  tears  to  stream  through  every  age  ; 
Tyrants  no  more  their  savage  nature  kept, 
And  foes  to  virtue  wondered  how  they  wept. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA. 

Our  author  shuns  by  vulgar  springs  to  move 

The  hero's  glory  or  the  virgin's  love  ; 

In  pitying  love  we  but  our  weakness  show, 

And  wild  ambition  well  deserves  its  woe. 

Here  tears  shall  flow  from  a  more  generous  cause, 

Such  tears  as  patriots  shed  for  dying  laws : 

He  bids  your  breasts  with  ancient  ardor  rise, 

And  calls  forth  Roman  drops  from  British  eyes. 

Virtue  confessed,  in  human  shape  he  draws, 

What  Plato  thought  and  godlike  Cato  was : 

No  common  object  to  your  sight  displays, 

But  what  with  pleasure  heaven  itself  surveys ; 

A  brave  man  struggling  in  the  storms  of  fate, 

And  greatly  falling  in  a  falling  state  ! 

While  Cato  gives  his  little  Senate  laws, 

What  bosom  beats  not  in  his  country's  cause  ? 

Who  sees  him  act,  but  envies  every  deed? 

Who  hears  him  groan,  and  does  not  wish  to  bleed? 

E'en  when  proud  Caesar,  'midst  triumphal  cars, 

The  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  pomp  of  wars, 

Ignobly  vain,  and  impotently  great, 

Showed  Rome  her  Cato's  figure  drawn  in  state. 

As  her  dead  father's  reverend  image  past, 

The  pomp  was  darkened  and  the  day  o'ercast, 

The  triumph  ceased — tears  gushed  from  every  eye, 

The  world's  great  victor  passed  unheeded  by : 

Her  last  good  man  dejected  Rome  adored, 

And  honored  Caesar's,  less  than  Cato's  sword. 

Britons,  attend  ;  be  worth  like  this  approved, 
And  show  you  have  the  virtue  to  be  moved. 
With  honest  scorn  the  first  famed  Cato  viewed 
Rome  learning  arts  from  Greece,  whom  she  subdued. 
Our  scenes  precariously  subsist  too  long 
On  French  translation  and  Italian  song: 
Dare  to  have  sense  yourselves  ;  assert  the  stage ; 
Be  justly  warmed  with  your  own  native  rage: 
Such  plays  alone  should  please  a  British  ear, 
As  Cato's  self  had  not  disdained  to  hear. 


512  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


NOTHING  TO   WEAR. 

W.  A.  BUTLER. 

OH  ladies,  dear  ladies,  the  next  sunny  day 
Please  trundle  your  hoops  just  out  of  Broadway, 
From  its  whirl  and  its  bustle,  its  fashion  and  pride, 
And  the  temples  of  Trade  which  tower  on  each  side, 
To  the  alleys  and  lanes,  where  Misfortune  and  Guilt 
Their  children  have  gathered,  their  city  have  built ; 
Where  Hunger  and  Vice,  like  twin  beasts  of  prey, 

Have  hunted  their  victims  to  gloom  and  despair ; 
Raise  the  rich,  dainty  dress,  and  the  fine  broidered  skirt, 
Pick  your  delicate  way  through  the  dampness  and  dirt, 

Grope  through  the  dark  dens,  climb  the  rickety  stair 
To  the  garret,  where  wretches,  the  young  and  the  old, 
Half-starved,  and  half-naked,  lie  crouched  from  the  cold. 
See  those  skeleton  limbs,  those  frost-bitten  feet, 
All  bleeding  and  bruised  by  the  stones  of  the  street ; 
Hear  the  sharp  cry  of  childhood,  the  deep  groans  that  swell 

From  the  poor  dying  creature  who  writhes  on  the  floor ; 
Hear  the  curses  that  sound  like  the  echoes  of  Hell, 

As  you  sicken  and  shudder  and  fly  from  the  door ; 
Then  home  to  your  wardrobes,  and  say,  if  you  dare — 
Spoiled  children  of  Fashion — you've  nothing  to  wear ! 

And  oh,  if  perchance  there  should  be  a  sphere, 
Where  all  is  made  right  which  so  puzzles  us  here  ; 
Where  the  glare,  and  the  glitter,  and  tinsel  of  Time 
Fade  and  die  in  the  light  of  that  region  sublime  ; 
Where  the  soul,  disenchanted  of  flesh  and  of  sense, 
Unscreened  by  its  trappings,  and  shows,  and  pretence, 
Must  be  clothed  for  the  life  and  the  service  above, 
With  purity,  truth,  faith,  meekness,  and  love ; 
Oh,  daughters  of  Earth  !  foolish  virgins,  beware ! 
Lest  in  that  upper  realm  you  have  nothing  to  wear  I 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  513 

DIALOGUES  AND  COLLOQUIES. 
THE  CAKDINAL'S  EXCULPATION. 

BULWEB. 

Richelieu.     Room,  my  Lords,  room  !  The  minister  of  France 
Can  need  no  intercession  with  the  King. 

[They  fall  back.} 

Louis.     What  means  this  false  report  of  death,  Lord  Cardinal  ? 

Richelieu.     Are  you  then  angered,  sire,  that  I  live  still  ? 

Louis.     No ;  but  such  artifice — 

Richelieu.    Not  mine : — look  elsewhere  ! 
Louis — my  castle  swarmed  with  the  assassins. 

Baradas  [advancing} .   We  have  punished  them  already.  Haguet 

now 

In  the  Bastile.     Oh  !  my  Lord,  we  were  prompt 
To  avenge  you — we  were — 

Richelieu.     WE  ?     Ha  !  ha  !  you  hear, 
My  liege  !     What  page,  man,  in  the  last  court  grammar 
Made  you  a  plural  ?     Count,  you  have  seized  the  hireling : — 
Sire,  shall  I  name  the  master? 

Louis.     Tush  !  my  Lord, 
The  old  contrivance  : — ever  does  your  wit 
Invent  assassins, — that  ambition  may 
Slay  rivals — 

Richelieu.     Rivals,  sire  !  in  what  ? 
Service  to  France  ?    I  have  none  !     Lives  the  man 
Whom  Europe,  paled  before  your  glory,  deems 
Rival  to  Armand  Richelieu  ? 

Louis.     What !  so  haughty ! 
Remember,  he  who  made,  can  unmake. 

Richelieu.     Never ! 

Never  !     Your  anger  can  recall  your  trust, 
Annul  my  office,  spoil  me  of  my  lands, 
Rifle  my  coffers, — but  my  name — my  deeds, 
Are  royal  in  a  land  beyond  your  sceptre  ! 
Pass  sentence  on  me,  if  you  will ;  from  Kings, 
Lo,  I  appeal  to  Time !     Be  just,  my  liege — 
I  found  your  kingdom  rent  with  heresies 
And  bristling  with  rebellion  ;  lawless  nobles 
And  breadless  serfs  ;  England  fomenting  discord; 
Austria — her  clutch  on  your  dominion  ;  Spain 
Forging  the  prodigal  gold  of  either  Ind 
To  armed  thunderbolts.     The  Arts  lay  dead, 

2K 


514  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Trade  rotted  in  your  marts,  your  Armies  mutinous, 
Your  Treasury  bankrupt.     Would  you  now  revoke 
Your  trust,  so  be  it !  and  I  leave  you,  sole 
Supremest  Monarch  of  the  mightiest  realm, 
From  Ganges  to  the  Icebergs : — Look  without ; 
No  foe  not  humbled !     Look  within  ;  the  Arts 
Quit  for  your  schools — there  old  Hesperides 
The  golden  Italy  !  while  through  the  veins 
Of  your  vast  empire  flows  in  strengthening  tides, 
Trade,  the  calm  health  of  nations  ! 

Sire,  I  know 

Your  smoother  courtiers  please  you  best — nor  measure 
Myself  with  them, — yet  sometimes  I  would  doubt 
If  statesmen,  rocked  and  dandled  into  power, 
Could  leave  such  legacies  to  kings ! 

[Louis  appears  irresolute.] 

Baradas  [passing  him,  whispers].     But  Julie, 
Shall  I  not  summon  her  to  court? 

Louis  [motions  to  BARADAS  and  turns  haughtily  to  the  Cardinal], 

Enough ! 

Your  Eminence  must  excuse  a  longer  audience. 
To  your  own  palace : — For  our  conference,  this 
Nor  place — nor  season. 

Richelieu.     Good  my  liege,  for  Justice 
All  place  a  temple,  and  all  season,  summer ! 
Do  you  deny  me  justice?     Saints  of  heaven! 
He  turns  from  me !     Do  you  deny  me  justice  ? 
For  fifteen  years,  while  in  these  hands  dwelt  empire, 
The  humblest  craftsman — the  obscurest  vassal — 
The  very  leper  shrinking  from  the  sun, 
Though  loathed  by  Charity,  might  ask  for  justice ! 
Not  with  the  fawning  tone  and  crawling  mien 
Of  some  I  see  around  you — Counts  and  Princes — 
Kneeling  for  favors  ; — but,  erect  and  loud, 
As  men  who  ask  man's  rights !  my  liege,  my  Lords, 
Do  you  refuse  me  justice — audience  even — 
In  the  pale  presence  of  the  baffled  Murther  ? 

Louis.     Lord  Cardinal — one  by  one  you  have  severed  from  me 
The  bonds  of  human  love.     All  near  and  dear 
Marked  out  for  vengeance — exile,  or  the  scaffold. 
You  find  me  now  amidst  my  trustiest  friends, 
My  closest  kindred  ; — you  would  tear  them  from  me ; 
They  murder  you,  forsooth,  since  me  they  love. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  515 

Enough  of  plots  and  treasons  for  one  reign  ! 
Home  !    Home  !  and  sleep  away  these  phantoms ! 

Richelieu.    Sire ! 

I patience,  heaven  !  sweet  heaven  !     Sire,  from  the  foot 

Of  that  Great  Throne,  these  hands  have  raised  aloft 

On  an  Olympus,  looking  down  on  mortals 

And  worshipped  by  their  awe — before  the  foot 

Of  that  high  throne, — spurn  you  the  gray-haired  man, 

Who  gave  you  empire — and  now  sues  for  safety  ! 

Louis.     No  : — when  we  see  your  Eminence  in  truth 

At  the  foot  of  the  throne — we'll  listen  to  you. 

From  "  Richelieu." 


THE  SEAMAN'S  PRIDE. 

BULWEB. 

Norman.  Well  met,  lads !  beshrew  me  but  the  sound  of  your  jolly 
welcome  is  the  merriest  music  I've  heard  since  we  parted.  Have  ye 
spent  all  your  doubloons  ? 

First  Sailor.    Pretty  nearly,  Captain. 

Norman.  That's  right — we  shall  be  all  the  lighter  in  sailing !  Away 
to  the  town — and  get  rid  of  these  pieces  for  me.  Off;  but  be  back  an 
hour  before  sunset.  [Exeunt  SAILORS. 

What  should  I  do  with  all  this  prize-money 
If  it  were  not  for  those  brave  fellows ! — faith, 
They  take  a  world  of  trouble  off  one's  hands ! 
How  fares  it,  Falkner? — thou  hast  seen  thy  home? — 
All  well  ?— 

Falkner.    All  well !  my  poor  old  father,  bless  him, 
Had  known  reverse — he  tills  another's  land, 
And  crops  had  failed.     Oh,  man,  I  was  so  happy 
To  pour  my  Indian  gold  into  his  lap, 
And  cry  "Your  sailor  son  has  come  to  drive 
Want  from  his  father's  door  !" 

Norman.    That  hour  were  worth 
A  life  of  toil !— well,  and  thy  mother  ? — I 
Have  never  known  one — but  I  love  to  see 
A  man's  eye  moisten  and  his  color  change 
When  on  his  lips  lingers  the  sweet  name  "  MOTHER  I"  • 
Thy  mother  blessed  thee ! 

Falkner.    Scarce  with  words ;  but  tears 
And  lifted  hands,  and  lips  that  smiled  dear  thanks 
To  the  protecting  heaven — these  blessed  me ! 

Norman.    Friend, 
I  envy  thee  ! — 


516  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Falkner.    Enough  of  ine — now  for  thyself,  what  news  ? 
Thy  Floweret  of  the  West — thy  fair  betrothed— 
The  maid  we  rescued  from  the  Afric  corsair 
With  her  brave  father — in  the  Indian  seas — 
Thou'st  seen  her  ? 

Norman.    No  ! — I  had,  more  wisely,  saved 
My  time  and  speed.     Her  sire  is  dead — the  stranger 
Sits  at  his  hearth ;  and  with  her  next  of  kin 
Hard  by  this  spot — this  very  spot — dear  Falkner, 
My  Violet  dwells :  look  where  the  sunlight  gilds 
The  time-worn  towers  of  stately  Arundel — 
Thither  my  steps  are  bound ;  a  happy  chance 
Our  trysting-place  should  have  been  chosen  here ! — 
I'd  not  have  gone  one  bowshot  from  the  path 
That  leads  my  soul  to  bask  in  Violet's  eyes — 
No,  not  for  all  the  lands  my  journey  traversed, 
Nor — what  is  more — for  the  best  ship  that  ever 
Bore  the  plumed  Victory  o'er  the  joyous  main.  [Going  out. 

Falkner.    Hold — but  the  priest,  thy  foster-father,  Onslow — 
Hast  thou  sought  him  f 

Norman.    Thou  dear  old  man,  forgive  me ! 
I  do  believe  as  whirlpools  to  the  sea 
Love  is  to  life  ! — Since  first  I  leapt  on  land 
I  have  had  no  thought — no  dream — no  fear — no  hope 
Which  the  absorbing  waves  of  one  strong  passion 
Have  not  engulphed ! — Wilt  serve  me,  Falkner  ? — Bear 
This  letter  to  the  priest — the  place  inscribed 
Scarce  two  hours'  journey  hence  ; — say  I  will  seek  him 
Perchance  this  night — if  not,  the  morrow's  dawn. 
Let  all  good  news  be  glad  upon  thy  tongue — 
How  I  am  well — strong — gay — how  every  night — 
Mark — tell  him  this — (good  men  at  home  are  apt 
To  judge  us  seamen  harshly) — every  night 
On  the  far  seas  his  foster  son  recalled 
The  words  he  taught  my  infant  lips, — and  prayed 
Blessings  on  that  gray  head. 

Falkner.    I'll  do  thy  bidding. 

Norman.    So  now  to  Violet. 

Falkner.    Hark  ! — thy  men  are  true — 
Thy  ship  at  hand :  if  she  say  "  ay" — hoist  sail, 
Off  with  the  prize.     I  prithee,  is  she  rich  ? — 

Norman.    Her  sire  died  poor — thank  Heaven,  she  is  not  rich ! 

Falkner.    I'm  glad  to  hear  it — Had  she  land  and  beeves, 
And  gold,  you  might  forswear  the  sea. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DKAMA.  517 

Norman.    The  sea ! 

No — not  for  Beauty's  self!  the  glorious  sea — • 
Where  England  grasps  the  trident  of  a  god, 
And  every  breeze  pays  homage  to  her  flag, 
And  every  wave  hears  Neptune's  choral  nymphs 
Hymn  with  immortal  music  England's  name ! — 
Forswear  the  sea !     My  bark  shall  be  our  home  ; 
The  gale  shall  chant  our  bridal  melodies ; — 
The  stars  that  light  the  angel  palaces 
Of  air,  our  lamps ; — our  floors  the  crystal  deep 
Studded  with  sapphires  sparkling  as  we  pass; — 
Our  roof — all  Heaven ! — my  Beautiful,  my  Own ! 
Never  did  sail  more  gladly  glide  to  port 
Than  I  to  thee;  my  anchor  in  my  faith, 
And  in  thine  eyes  my  haven. — .Farewell,  Falkner. 

From  "  The  Sea  Captain.'* 


CONSCIENCE   TRIUMPHANT, 

G.  LlLLO. 

Barnwell.  How  strange  are  all  things  round  me  !  Like  some  thief 
who  treads  forbidden  ground,  and  fain  would  lurk  unseen,  fearful  I 
enter  each  apartment  of  this  well-known  house.  To  guilty  love,  as  if 

that  were  too  little,  already  have  I  added  breach  of  trust A  thief! 

Can  I  know  myself  that  wretched  thing,  and  look  my  honest  friend 

and  injured  master  in  the  face?  Though  hypocrisy  may  a  while  con- 
ceal my  guilt,  at  length  it  will  be  known,  and  public  shame  and  ruin 
must  ensue.  In  the  mean  time,  what  must  be  my  life?  Ever  to  speak 
a  language  foreign  to  my  heart ;  hourly  to  add  to  the  number  of  my 
crimes,  in  order  to  conceal  them.  Sure  such  was  the  condition  of  the 
grand  apostate,  when  first  he  lost  his  purity.  Like  me,  disconsolate 
he  wandered  ;  and,  while  yet  in  heaven,  bore  all  his  future  hell  about 
him.  [Enter  TRUEMAN. 

Trueman.  Barnwell,  oh,  how  I  rejoice  to  see  you  safe  !  So  will  our 
master  and  his  gentle  daughter ;  who,  during  your  absence,  often  in- 
quired after  you. 

Barn.  Would  he  were  gone !  His  officious  love  will  pry  into  the 
secrets  of  my  soul.  {Aside.'} 

True.     Unless  you  knew  the  pain  the  whole  family  has  felt  on  your 

account,  you  can't  conceive  how  much  you  are  beloved.     But  why  thus 

cold  and  silent?    When  my  heart  is  full  of  joy  for  your  return,  why  do 

you  turn  away  ;  why  thus  avoid  me?     What  have  I  done?     How  am 

44 


518  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

I  altered  since  you  saw  me  last  ?  or  rather,  what  have  you  done ;  and 
why  are  you  thus  changed  ?  for  I  am  still  the  same. 

Barn.     What  have  I  done,  indeed  !     [Aside.] 

True.     Not  speak ! — nor  look  upon  me  ! — 

Barn.  By  my  face  he  will  discover  all  I  would  conceal ;  methinks 
already  I  begin  to  hate  him.  [,4stcfe.] 

True.  I  cannot  bear  this  usage  from  a  friend  ;  one  whom  till  now  I 
ever  found  so  loving ;  whom  yet  I  love  ;  though  this  unkindness  strikes 
at  the  root  of  friendship,  and  might  destroy  it  in  any  breast  but  mine. 

Barn.  I  am  not  well.  Sleep  has  been  a  stranger  to  these  eyes 
since  you  beheld  them  last. 

True.  Heavy  they  look,  indeed,  and  swollen  with  tears ! — now  they 
overflow.  Rightly  did  my  sympathizing  heart  forebode  last  night, 
when  thou  wast  absent,  something  fatal  to  our  peace. 

Barn.  Your  friendship  engages  you  too  far.  My  troubles,  whatever 
they  are,  are  mine  alone :  you  have  no  interest  in  them,  nor  ought  your 
concern  for  me  to  give  you  a  moment's  pain. 

True.  You  speak  as  if  you  knew  of  friendship  nothing  but  the 
name.  Before  I  saw  your  grief,  I  felt  it.  Since  we  parted  last,  I 
have  slept  no  more  than  you,  but  pensive  in  my  chamber  sat  alone, 
and  spent  the  tedious  night  in  wishes  for  your  safety  and  return  ;  even 
now,  though  ignorant  of  the  cause,  your  sorrow  wounds  me  to  the 
heart. 

Barn.  'T  will  not  be  always  thus.  Friendship  and  all  engagements 
cease,  as  circumstances  and  occasions  vary ;  and  since  you  once  may 
hate  me,  perhaps  it  might  be  better  for  us  both  that  now  you  loved  me 
less. 

True.  Sure  I  but  dream  !  without  a  cause  would  Barnwell  use  me 
thus  ?  ungenerous  and  ungrateful  youth,  farewell ;  I  shall  endeavor  to 
follow  your  advice.  [Going.]  Yet  stay,  perhaps  I  am  too  rash,  and 
angry  when  the  cause  demands  compassion.  Some  unforeseen  calam- 
ity may  have  befallen  him  too  great  to  bear.  [Aside.] 

Barn.  What  part  am  I  reduced  to  act?  'tis  vile  and  base  to  move 
his  temper  thus,  the  best  of  friends  and  men.  [^Ist^e.] 

True.  I  am  to  blame :  prithee,  forgive  me,  Barnwell.  Try  to  com- 
pose your  ruffled  mind  ;  and  let  me  know  the  cause  that  thus  trans- 
ports you  from  yourself;  my  friendly  counsel  may  restore  your  peace. 

Barn.  All  that  is  possible  for  man  to  do  for  man,  your  generous 
friendship  may  effect;  but  here  even  that's  in  vain. 

True.  Something  dreadful  is  laboring  in  your  breast:  oh,  give  it 
vent,  and  let  me  share  your  grief ;  'twill  ease  your  pain,  should  it 
admit  no  cure,  and  make  it  lighter  by  the  part  I  bear. 

Barn.  Vain  supposition !  my  woes  increase  by  being  observed ; 
should  the  cause  be  known,  they  would  exceed  all  bounds. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  519 

True.     So  well  1  know  thy  honest  heart,  guilt  cannot  harbor  there. 

Barn.     Oh,  torture  insupportable  !     [Aside.\ 

True.  Then  why  am  I  excluded  ?  have  I  a  thought  I  would  conceal 
from  you? 

Barn.  If  still  you  urge  me  on  this  hated  subject,  I'll  never  enter 
more  beneath  this  roof,  nor  see  your  face  again. 

True.     "Tis  strange but  I  have  done,  say  but  you  hate  me  not. 

Barn.     Hate  you  !  I  am  not  that  monster  yet. 

True.     Shall  our  friendship  still  continue? 

Barn.  It's  a  blessing  I  never  was  worthy  of,  yet  now  must  stand  on 
terms :  and  but  upon  conditions  can  confirm  it. 

True.     What  are  they  ? 

Barn.  Never  hereafter,  though  you  should  wonder  at  my  conduct, 
desire  to  know  more  than  I  am  willing  to  reveal. 

True.     'Tis  hard  ;  but  upon  any  conditions  I  must  be  your  friend. 

Barn.  Then,  as  much  as  one  lost  to  himself  can  be  another's,  I  am 
yours.  [Embracing.'] 

True.     Be  ever  so,  and  may  heaven  restore  your  peace ! 

Barn.  Will  yesterday  return?  we  have  heard  the  glorious  sun, 
that  till  then  incessant  rolled,  once  stopped  his  rapid  course,  and  once 
went  back.  The  dead  have  risen,  and  parched  rocks  poured  forth  a 
liquid  stream  to  quench  a  people's  thirst.  The  sea  divided,  and  formed 
walls  of  water,  while  a  whole  nation  passed  in  safety  through  its  sandy 
bosom.  Hungry  lions  have  refused  their  prey  ;  and  men  unhurt  have 
walked  amidst  consuming  flames :  but  never  yet  did  time,  once  past, 
return. 

True.  Though  the  continued  chain  of  time  has  never  once  been 
broke,  nor  never  will,  but  uninterrupted  must  keep  on  its  course,  till 
lost  in  eternity,  it  ends  where  it  first  began  ;  yet  as  heaven  can  repair 
whatever  evils  time  can  bring  upon  us,  we  ought  never  to  despair. 
But  business  requires  our  attendance;  business,  the  youth's  best  preser- 
vation from  ill,  as  idleness  his  worst  of  snares.  Will  you  go  with  me  ? 

Barn.  I'll  take  a  little  time  to  reflect  on  what  has  passed,  and  follow 
you.  [Exit  TRUEMAN.]  I  might  have  trusted  Trueman,  and  engaged 
him  to  apply  to  my  uncle  to  repair  the  wrong  I  have  done  my  master ; 
but  what  of  Milwood  ?  must  I  expose  her,  too  ?  ungenerous  and  base  . 
then  heaven  requires  it  not.  But  heaven  requires  that  I  forsake  her. 
What!  never  to  hear  her  more?  does  heaven  require  that?  I  hope  I 
may  see  her,  and  heaven  not  be  offended.  Presumptuous  hope  !  dearly 
already  have  I  proved  my  frailty.  Should  I  once  more  tempt  heaven, 
I  may  be  left  to  fall,  never  to  rise  again.  Yet  shall  I  leave  her,  for 
ever  leave  her,  and  not  let  her  know  the  cause  ?  she  who  loves  me  with 
such  a  boundless  passion  !  can  cruelty  be  duty  ?  I  judge  of  what  she 
then  must  feel,  by  what  I  now  endure.  The  love  of  life,  and  fear  of 


520  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

shame,  opposed  by  inclination  strong  as  death  or  shame,  like  wind  and 
tide  in  raging  conflict  meet,  when  neither  can  prevail,  keep  me  in 
doubt.  How  then  can  I  determine  ? 

From  "  George  JBarnwell." 


AN  INCORRUPTIBLE   FARMER. 

THOS.  MORTON. 

SIR  PHILIP  BLANDFORD  and  FARMER  ASHFIELD. 
Sir  P.     Send  Farmer  Ashfield  hither.     That  boy  must  be  driven  far, 
far  from  my  sight — but  where  ? — No  matter !  the  world  is  large  enough. 

Enter  ASHFIELD. 
Come  hither.     I  believe  you  hold  a  farm  of  mine  ? 

Ash.     Ees,  zur,  I  do,  at  your  zarvice. 

Sir  P.     I  hope  a  profitable  one? 

Ash.  Zometimes  it  be,  zur.  But  thic  year  it  be  all  t'other  way,  as 
;twur ;  but  I  do  hope,  as  our  landlords  have  a  tightish  big  lump  of  the 
good,  they'll  be  zo  kind-hearted  as  to  take  a  little  bit  of  the  bad. 

Sir  P.     It  is  but  reasonable.     I  conclude,  then,  you  are  in  my  debt. 

Ash.     Ees,  zur,  I  be — at  your  zarvice. 

Sir  P.     How  much  ? 

Ash.     I  do  owe  ye  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  at  your  zarvice. 

Sir  P.     Which  you  can't  pay  ? 

Ash.     Not  a  varthing,  zur,  at  your  zarvice. 

Sir  P.     Well,  I  am  willing  to  give  you  every  indulgence. 

Ash.  /Be  you,  zur  ?  that  be  deadly  kind.  Dear  heart !  it  will  make 
my  auld  Dame  quite* young  again,  and  I  don't  think  helping  a  poor 
man  will  do  your  honor's  health  any  harm — I  don't,  indeed,  zur — I  had 
a  thought  of  speaking  to  your  worship  about  it— but  then,  thinks  I,  the 
gentleman  mayhap  be  one  of  those  that  do  like  to  do  a  good  turn,  and 
not  have  a  word  zaid  about  it — zo,  zur,  if  you  had  not  mentioned  what 
I  owed  you,  I  am  zure  I  never  should — should  not,  indeed,  zur. 

Sir  P.     Nay,  I  will  wholly  acquit  you  of  the  debt,  on  condition — 

Ash.     Ees,  zur. 

Sir  P.  On  condition,  I  say,  you  instantly  turn  out  that  boy — that 
Henry. 

Ash.  Turn  out  Henry ! — Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Excuse  my  tittering,  zur  ; 
but  you  bees  making  your  vun  of  I,  zure. 

Sir  P.  I  am  not  apt  to  trifle — send  him  instantly  from  you,  or  take 
the  consequences. 

Ash.  Turn  outr  Henry  !  I  do  vow  I  shouldn't  knaw  how  to  zet  about 
it— I  should  not,  indeed,  zur. 

Sir  P.  You  heard  my  determination.  If  you  disobey,  you  know 
what  will  follow.  I'll  leave  you  to  reflect  on  it.  [Exit. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  521 

Ash.  "Well,  zur,  I'll  argufy  the  topic,  and  then  you  may  wait  upon 
me,  and  I'll  tell  ye.  [Makes  the  motion  of  turning  out.]  I  should  be 
deadly  awkward  at  it,  vor  zartain — however,  I'll  put  the  case.  Well ! 
I  goes  whiztling  whoam — noa,  drabbit  it !  I  shouldn't  be  able  to 
whiztle  a  bit,  I'm  zure.  Well !  I  goes  whoam,  and  I  zees  Henry  zit- 
ting  by  my  wife,  mixing  up  someit  to  comfort  the  wold  zoul,  and  take 
away  the  pain  of  her  rheumatics — Very  well !  then  Henry  places  chair 
vor  I  by  the  vire  side,  and  zays — "  Varmer,  the  horses  be  ved,  the 
sheep  be  voided,  and  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  zit  down,  smoke  your 
pipe,  and  be  happy  I"  Very  well !  [Becomes  affected.}  Then  I  zays — 
"  Henry,  you  be  poor  and  friendless,  zo  you  must  turn  out  of  my  house 
directly."  Very  well !  Then  my  wife  stares  at  I — reaches  her  hand 
towards  the  vire  place,  and  throws  the  poker  at  my  head.  Very  well ! 
Then  Henry  gives  a  kind  of  aguish  shake,  and  getting  up,  zighs  vrom 
the  bottom  of  his  heart — then  holding  up  his  head  like  a  king,  zays — 
"  Varmer,  I  have  too  long  been  a  burthen  to  you.  Heaven  protect  you, 
as  you  have  me.  Farewell !  I  go."  Then  I  zays,  "  If  thee  doez,  I'll 
be  blowed !"  [  With  great  energy.}  Hollo  !  you  Mister  Sir  Philip ! 
you  may  come  in. 

Enter  SIR  PHILIP  BLANDFORD. 
Zur,  I  have  argufied  the  topic,  and  it  wouldn't  be  pratty — zo  I  can't. 

Sir  P.     Can't  ?  absurd  ! 

Ash.     Well,  zur,  there  is  but  another  word — I  won't. 

Sir  P.     Indeed ! 

Ash.  No,  zur,  I  won't ;  I'd  zee  myself  hanged  first,  and  you,  too, 
zur.  I  would,  indeed.  [Sowing. 

Sir  P.     You  refuse,  then,  to  obey  ? 

Ash.     I  do,  zur — at  your  zarvice.  [Bowing. 

Sir  P.     Then  the  law  must  take  its  course. 

Ash.  I  be  zorry  for  that,  too — I  be,  indeed,  zur;  but  if  corn 
wouldn't  grow,  I  couldn't  help  it ;  it  wer'n't  poisoned  by  the  hand  that 
zowed  it.  Thic  hand,  zur,  be  as  vree  vrom  guilt  as  your  own. 

Sir  P.     Oh  !  [Sighing  deeply. 

Ash.  It  were  never  held  out  to  clinch  a  hard  bargain,  nor  will  it 
turn  a  good  lad  out  into  the  wide,  wicked  world,  because  he  be  poorish 
a  bit.  I  be  zorry  you  be  offended,  zur,  quite ;  but,  come  what  would, 
I'll  never  hit  thic  hand  against  here,  but  when  I  be  zure  that  zomet  at 
inside  will  jump  against  it  with  pleasure.  [Bowing.]  I  do  hope  you'll 
repent  of  all  your  zins — I  do,  indeed,  zur  ;  and  if  you  should,  I'll  come 
and  see  you  again  as  friendly  as  ever.  I  wool,  indeed,  zur. 

Sir  P.     Your  repentance  will  come  too  late  !  [Exit. 

Ash.  Thank  ye,  zur. — Good  morning  to  you — I  do  hope  I  have  made 
myzelf  agreeable — and  so  I'll  go  whoam.  [Exit. 

From  "  Speed  the  Plough." 
44* 


522  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


JUSTICE  TO  THE  LOWLY. 

THOS.  MORGAN. 
SIR  PHILIP  BLANDFORD  and  HENRY. 

JZnter  HENRY. 

Sir  P.     By  what  title,  sir,  do  you  thus  intrude  on  me  ? 

Hen.     By  one  of  an  imperious  nature :  the  title  of  a  creditor. 

Sir  P.     I  your  debtor ! 

Hen.  Yes;  for  you  owe  me  justice.  You,  perhaps,  withhold  from 
me  the  inestimable  treasure  of  a  parent's  blessing. 

Sir  P.     [Impatiently.]     To  the  business  that  brought  you  hither. 

Hen.     Thus,  then — I  believe  this  is  your  signature — 

[Producing  a  bond. 

Sir  P.     Ah !     [Recovering  himself.]     It  is— 

Hen.  Affixed  to  a  bond  of  1000Z.,  which  by  assignment  is  mine.  By 
virtue  of  this  I  discharge  the  debt  of  your  worthy  tenant,  Ashfield ;  who, 
it  seems,  was  guilty  of  the  crime  of  vindicating  the  injured  und  pro- 
tecting the  unfortunate.  Now,  Sir  Philip,  the  retribution  my  hate 
demands  is,  that  what  remains  of  this  obligation  may  not  be  now  paid 
to  me,  but  wait  your  entire  convenience  and  leisure. 

Sir  P.     No  ;  that  must  not  be. 

Hen.  Oh,  sir,  why  thus  oppress  an  innocent  man  ? — Why  spurn 
from  you  a  heart  that  pants  to  serve  you  ?  No  answer  ?  Farewell. 

[  Going. 

Sir  P.  Hold— nme  word  before  we  part— tell  me — [Aside.]  I  dread 
to  ask  it.  How  came  you  possessed  of  this  bond  ? 

Hen.     A  stranger,  whose  kind  benevolence  stepped  in,  and  saved — 

Sir  P.     His  name  ? 

Hen.     Morrington. 

Sir  P.  Fiend  !  tormentor !  Has  he  catight  me  ! — You  have  seen  this 
Morrington  ? 

Hen.     Yes. 

Sir  P.     Did  he  speak  of  me? 

Hen.  He  did — and  of  your  daughter.  "  Conjure  him,"  said  he, 
"  not  to  sacrifice  the  lovely  Emma  by  a  marriage  her  heart  revolts  at. 
Tell  him,  the  life  and  fortune  of  a  parent  are  not  his  own.  He  holds 
them  but  in  trust  for  his  offspring.  Bid  him  reflect,  that  while  his 
daughter  merits  the  brightest  rewards  a  father  can  bestow,  she  is  by 
that  father  doomed  to  the  harshest  fate  tyranny  can  inflict." 

Sir  P.  Torture  !  [  With  vehemence.]  Did  he  say  who  caused  this 
sacrifice  ? 

Hen.     He  told  me  you  had  been  duped  of  your  fortune  by  sharpers. 

Sir  P.     Ay, — he  knows  that  well.     Young   man,  mark  me. — This 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  523 

Morrington,  whose  precepts  wear  the  face  of  virtue,  and  whose  practice 
seems  benevolence,  was  the  chief  of  the  hellish  banditti  that  ruined  me. 

Hen.     Is  it  possible? 

Sir  P.     That  bond  you  hold  in  your  hand  was  obtained  by  robbery. 

Hen.     Confusion ! 

Sir  P.  Not  by  the  thief  who,  encountering  you  as  a  man,  stakes 
life  against  life,  but  by  that  most  cowardly  villain,  who  in  the  moment 
when  reason  sleeps  and  passion  is  roused,  draws  his  snares  around  you, 
and  hugs  you  to  yeur  ruin. 

Hen.     On  your  soul,  is  Morrington  that  man? 

Sir  P.     On  my  soul,  he  is. 

Hen.  Thus,  then,  I  annihilate  the  detested  act,  and  thus  I  tread 
upon  a  villain's  friendship.  [Tearing  the  bond 

Sir  P.     Rash  boy  !  what  have  you  done  ? 

Hen.     An  act  of  justice  to  Sir  Philip  Blandford. 

Sir  P.     For  which  you  claim  my  thanks  ? 

Hen.  Sir,  I  am  thanked  already — here.  [Pointing  to  his  heart.] 
Curse  on  such  wealth  !  compared  with  its  possession,  poverty  is  splen- 
dor. Fear  not  for  me,  I  shall  not  feel  the  piercing  cold ;  for  in  that 
man  whose  heart  beats  warmly  for  his  fellow-creatures,  the  blood  cir- 
culates with  freedom.  My  food  shall  be  what  few  of  the  pampered 
sons  of  greatness  can  boast  of — the  luscious  bread  of  independence ; 
and  the  opiate  that  brings  me  sleep,  will  be  the  recollections  of  the  day 
passed  in  innocence. 

Sir  P.     Noble  boy  !    Oh  !  Blandford  ! 

Hen.     Ah ! 

Sir  P.     What  have  I  said  ? 

Hen.     You  called  me  Blandford. 

Sir  P.     'Twas  error — 'twas  madness  ! 

Hen.  Blandford  !  A  thousand  hopes  and  fears  rush  on  my  heart. 
Disclose  to  me  my  birth — be  it  what  it  may,  I  am  your  slave  for  ever. 
Refuse  me,  you  create  a  foe,  firm  and  implacable  as — - 

Sir  P.  Ha!  am  I  threatened  ?  Do  not  extinguish  the  spark  of  pity 
my  breast  is  warmed  with. 

Hen.     I  will  not.     Oh,  forgive  me  ! 

Sir  P.  Yes,  on  one  condition — leave  me. — Ha !  some  one  approaches. 
Begone,  I  insist — I  entreat. 

Hen.  That  word  has  charmed  me — I  obey.  Sir  Philip,  you  may 
hate,  but  you  shall  respect  me.  [Exit. 

From  "  Speed  the  Plough." 


524  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 


THE   SPANISH   STUDENT. 

LONGFELLOW. 

SCENE.  A  cross-road  through  a  wood.  In  the  back-ground  a  distant 
village  spire.  VICTORIAN  and  HYPOLITO.  as  travelling  students,  with 
guitars,  sitting  under  the  trees.  HYPOLITO  plays  and  sings. 

SONG. 

Ah,  Love ! 
Perjured,  false,  treacherous  Love ! 

Enemy 
Of  all  that  mankind  may  not  rue ! 

Most  untrue 
To  him  who  keeps  most  faith  with  thee. 

Woe  is  me ! 
The  falcon  has  the  eyes  of  the  dove. 

Ah,  Love! 
Perjured,  false,  treacherous  Love ! 

Victorian.    Yes,  Love  is  ever  busy  with  his  shuttle, 
Is  ever  weaving  into  life's  dull  warp 
Bright,  gorgeous  flowers  and  scenes  Arcadian  ; 
Hanging  our  gloomy  prison-house  about 
With  tapestries,  that  make  its  walls  dilate 
In  never-ending  vistas  of  delight. 

Hypolito.    Thinking  to  walk  in  those  Arcadian  pastures, 
Thou  hast  run  thy  noble  head  against  the  wall. 

SONG  (continued}. 

Thy  deceits 
Give  us  clearly  to  comprehend, 

Whither  tend 
All  thy  pleasures,  all  thy  sweets ! 

They  are  cheats, 
Thorns  below  and  flowers  above. 

Ah,  Love! 
Perjured,  false,  treacherous  Love! 

Viet.  A  very  pretty  song.     I  thank  thee  for  it. 

Hyp.  It  suits  thy  case. 

Viet.  Indeed,  I  think  it  does. 
What  wise  man  wrote  it? 

Hyp.  Lopez  Maldonado. 

Viet.  In  truth,  a  pretty  song. 

Hyp.  With  much  truth  in  it. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  525 

Viet.    I  hope  thou  wilt  profit  by  it ;  and  in  earnest 
Try  to  forget  this  lady  of  thy  love. 
I  will  forget  her !     All  dear  recollections 
Pressed  in  my  heart,  like  flowers  within  a  book, 
Shall  be  torn  out,  and  scattered  to  the  winds ! 
I  will  forget -her  !     But  perhaps  hereafter, 
When  she  shall  learn  how  heartless  is  the  world, 
A  voice  within  her  will  repeat  my  name, 
And  she  will  s"ay,  "  He  was  indeed  my  friend  I" 
0,  would  I  were  a  soldier,  not  a  scholar, 
That  the  loud  march,  the  deafening  beat  of  drums, 
The  shattering  blast  of  the  brass-throated  trumpet, 
The  din  of  arms,  the  onslaught  and  the  storm, 
And  a  swift  death >  might  make  me  deaf  for  ever 
To  the  upbraidings  of  this  foolish  heart ! 

Hyp.    Then  let  that  foolish  heart  upbraid  no  more ! 
To  conquer  love,  one  need  but  will  to  conquer. 

Viet.    Yet,  good  Hypolito,  it  is  in  vain 
I  throw  into  Oblivion's  sea  the  sword 
That  pierces  me  ;  for,  like  Excalibar, 
With  gemmed  and  flashing  hilt,  it  will  not  sink. 
There  rises  from  below  a  hand  that  grasps  it, 
And  waves  it  in  the  air ;  and  wailing  voices 
Are  heard  along  the  shore. 

Hyp.    And  yet  at  last 
Down  sank  Excalibar  to  rise  no  more. 
This  is  not  well.     In  truth,  it  vexes  me. 
Instead  of  whistling  to  the  steeds  of  Time, 
To  make  them  jog  on  merrily  with  life's  burden, 
Like  a  dead  weight  thou  hangest  on  the  wheels. 
Thou  art  too  young,  too  full  of  lusty  health 
To  talk  of  dying. 

Viet.    Yet  I  fain  would  die ! 
To  go  through  life,  unloving  and  unloved ; 
To  feel  that  thirst  and  hunger  of  the  soul     "•* 
We  cannot  still ;  that  longing,  that  wild  impulse, 
And  struggle  after  something  we  have  not 
And  cannot  have  ;  the  effort  to  be  strong ; 
And,  like  the  Spartan  boy,  to  smile,  and  smile, 
While  secret  wounds  do  bleed  beneath  our  cloaks ; 
All  this  the  dead  feel  not, — the  dead  alone ! 
Would  I  were  with  them  ! 

Hyp.    We  shall  all  be  soon. 

Viet.    It  cannot  be  too  soon  ;  for  I  am  weary 


526  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Of  the  bewildering  masquerade  of  Life, 

Where  strangers  walk  as  friends,  and  friends  as  strangers ; 

Where  whispers  overheard  betray  false  hearts ; 

And  through  the  mazes  of  the  crowd  we  chase 

Some  form  of  loveliness,  that  smiles,  and  beckons, 

And  cheats  us  with  fair  words,  only  to  leave  us 

A  mockery  and  a  jest;  maddened, — confused, — 

Not  knowing  friend  from  foe. 

Hyp.     Why  seek  to  know  ? 
Enjoy  the  merry  shrove-tide  of  thy  youth ! 
Take  each  fair  mask  for  what  it  gives  itself, 
Nor  strive  to  look  beneath  it. 

Viet.     I  confess, 

That  were  the  wiser  part.     But  Hope  no  longer 
Comforts' my  soul.     I  am  a  wretched  man, 
Much  like  a  poor  and  shipwrecked  mariner, 
Who,  struggling  to  climb  up  into  the  boat, 
Has  both  his  bruised  and  bleeding  hands  cut  off, 
And  sinks  again  into  the  weltering  sea, 
Helpless  and  hopeless ! 

Hyp.     Yet  thou  shalt  not  perish. 
The  strength  of  thine  own  arm  is  thy  salvation. 
Above  thy  head,  through  rifted  clouds,  there  shines 
A  glorious  star.  %  Be  patient.     Trust  thy  star ! 
(Sound  of  a  village  bell  in  the  distance.) 

Viet.    Ave  Maria !     I  hear  the  sacristan 
Ringing  the  chimes  from  yonder  village  belfry ! 
A  solemn  sound,  that  echoes  far  and  wide 
Over  the  red  roofs  of  the  cottages, 
And  bids  the  laboring  hind  a-field,  the  shepherd, 
Guarding  his  flock,  the  lonely  muleteer, 
And  all  the  crowd  in  village  streets,  stand  still, 
And  breathe  a  prayer  unto  the  Blessed  Virgin ! 

Hyp.    Amen  !  amen  !     Not  half  a  league  from  hence 
The  village  lies. 

Viet.     This  path  will  lead  us  to  it, 
Over  the  wheat  fields,  where  the  shadows  sail 
Across  the  running  sea,  now  green,  now  blue, 
And,  like  an  idle  mariner  on  the  main, 
Whistles  the  quail.     Come,  let  us  hasten  on. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  527 


THE   TRIAL   OF   ANNE    BOLEYN. 

BOKER. 

The  Great  Hall  of  the  Tower,  arranged  for  the  Queen's  trial.  On  one 
side  are  seated  Dukes  of  NORFOLK,  SUFFOLK,  and  RICHMOND,  Marquis 
of  EXETER,  Earl  O/ARUNDEL,  and  other  Peers,  as  Lords  Triers,  with 
officers,  &c. ;  on  the  other,  QUEEN  ANNE,  in  the  custody  of  Sir  WIL- 
LIAM KINGSTON,  Ladies,  Attendants,  Guards,  &c. 

Norfolk.     Are  we  agreed  ?     [  To  the  Lords.] 
Suffolk.     Here  is  our  verdict,  sir. 

[ Hands  a  paper.] 

[RICHMOND  and  SUFFOLK  talk  apart.] 

Richmond.     I  hope,  your  grace,  I  have  damned  my  soul  enough 
To  please  the  most  fastidious  father. 

Suf.     Stuff! 

Rich.     Yes,  "stuff!"  substantial,  downright  villany. 
That  I  shall  bear  upon  my  aching  heart 
Till  death  unload  it. 

Suf.     Come,  be  cheerful,  sir. 
It  ill  becomes  heroic  minds  to  shrink 
From  the  first  blood  of  triumph.     You  are  young 
And  dainty-minded  ;  time  will  strengthen  }rou. 

Rich.     Courage  but  adds  deformity  to  crime. 
A  wicked  heart,  though  placid  as  a  lake, 
Girt  and  controlled  by  rigid  barriers, 
Can  but  reflect  each  blessing  of  sweet  heaven, 
And  every  bordering  virtue  of  our  earth, 
All  topsy-turvy.     I  am  hardened,  sir  ; 
If  not  by  years,  at  least  by  sinfulness, 
That  wrinkled  register  of  ill-spent  days, 
Who  scars  his  moments  on  the  erring  heart, 
While  yet  the  brow  is  smooth  ! 

Suf.     The  saints  look  down  ! 
This  pretty  sermon  must  have  washed  you  clean. 
Hist !  hear  the  sentence. 

Nor.     Lady  Anne  Boleyn, 

Marchioness  of  Pembroke,  sometime  England's  queen — 
Though  most  unworthily,  as  the  strict  course 
Of  equal  justice  has  so  clearly  proved — 

Arise.     [The  QUEEN  rises.]     Lay  off  your  crown  and  vestured  marks 
Of  royal  dignity,  to  hear  from  me 
The  solemn  finding  of  this  high  tribunal. 


528          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

[QUEEN  ANNE  puts  off  her  crown  and  robe  of  'state.] 

Queen  Anne.     Your  grace's  first  commands,  though  harshly  meant, 
Are  merciful  indeed. 

Nor.     Be  silent,  madam  ! 
Upon  each  several  charge,  whereon  you  stand 
Indicted  by  the  law,  we  do  pronounce 
Your  guilt  most  clear ;  and  therefore  do  condemn  you, 
At  such  time  as  his  majesty  may  name, 
To  suffer  death  by  burning  at  the  stake, 
Or  by  beheading,  as  may  please  the  king.^- 
God  give  you  patience  to  endure  your  doom  ! 

Queen  A.  I  doubt  it  not.  0  Father,  0  Creator, 
Who  art  the  way,  the  life,  the  truth,  Thou  knowest 
If  I  deserve  this  death  ! 

Rich.    0  !  base,  base,  base ! 
This  pardons  Herod  in  the  eye  of  heaven.         [Aside.] 

Nor.     Marchioness  of  Pembroke,  have  you  aught  to  say 
Touching  the  judgment  of  this  court? 

Queen  A.     My  lords, 
I  will  not  say  your  sentence  is  unjust — 
Presuming  that  my  reasons  can  prevail 
Against  your  firm  convictions  ; — I  would  rather 
Believe  that  you  have  reasons  for  your  acts, 
Of  ample  power  to  vindicate  your  fames ; 
But,  then,  they  must  be  other  than  the  court 
Has  heard  produced :  for  by  the  evidence 
I  have  been  cleared,  to  all  unbiassed  minds, 
Of  each  offence  'gainst  which  that  proof  was  brought. 
I  have  been  ever  to  his  majesty 
A  faithful  wife  :  0  !  could  I  say  as  truly 
That  I  have  shown  him  the  humility 
His  goodness,  and  the  honor  he  conferred, 
Deserved  from  me !     I  have,  I  do  confess, 
Had  jealous  fancies  and  suspicious  thoughts— 
In  w'  iich,  perchance,  I  wronged  him — that  had  J 
Been  more  discreet  and  anxious  to  conceal, 
I  hau  been  more  the  queen,  but  less  the  wife, 
God  is  my  witness,  that  in  no  way  else 
Have  I  e'er  sinned  against  him. 
Think  not,  my  lords,  I  say  this  to  prolong 
My  heavy  life  ;  for  God  has  fortified 
My  trust  in  Him,  and  taught  me  how  to  die. 
Think  me  not  so  bewildered  in  my  mind, 
As  not  to  lay  my  chastity  to  heart, 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  529 

Now  in  my  last  extremity  ;  for  I 

Have  held  its  honor  far  above  my  crown, 

And  have  maintained  no  queenly  dignity 

More  pure  from  vulgar  stain.     I  know  my  words 

Can  nought  avail  me,  save  to  justify 

My  chastity,  so  perilled  by  your  doom. 

As  for  my  brother,  and  those  constant  friends 

With  me  unjustly  sentenced,  I  would  die 

A  thousand  deaths  to  save  their  guiltless  lives : 

But  since  it  has  so  pleased  his  majesty, 

I  will  accompany  them,  most  willingly, 

Through  death  to  heaven,  through  pain  to  endless  peace. 

I  have  said  all. 

Nor.     Remove  the  prisoner. 

[QUEEN  ANNE  bows  to  the  Court,  and  is  led  off  by  Sir  WILLIAM  KING- 
STON.    Then  exeunt  all  but  the  Lords  Triers.] 

Rich.     We  are  damned  for  ever ! 

Nor.     Poh,  poh !  saved,  I  think. 
While  she  held  power  heads  flew  like  tennis-balls. 

Arundel.     Why  did  she  touch  so  lightly  on  the  king  ? 

Exeter.    'Twas  for  a  cause  no  deeper  than  the  heart, — 
She  loves  him  yet. 

Arun.     The  sentimental  fool ! 

Rich.     Have  you  no  grosser  phrases  ?     "  Fool,"  forsooth ! 
There  's  the  last  blow  to  greatness  ! — Arundel 
Claims  her  as  kindred  ! 

Nor.     Gentlemen,  away ! 
Our  sun  of  power  is  burning  in  mid  air ; 
We  waste  the  daylight.     Come,  let  us  seek  the  king. 
Hug  every  Seymour  that  you  chance  to  meet ! 

From  "Anne  Boleyn." 


LITERARY  STRATAGEM. 

S.  FOOTE. 

Puff.  Why,  then,  Mr.  Dactyl,  carry  them  to  somebody  else ;  there 
are  people  enough  in  the  trade :  but  I  wonder  you  would  meddle  with 
poetry  ;  you  know  it  rarely  pays  for  the  paper. 

Dactyl.  And  how  can  one  help  it,  Mr.  Puff?  Genius  impels,  and 
when  a  man  is  once  listed  in  the  service  of  the  muses — — - 

Puff.    Why,  let  him  give  them  warning  as  soon  as  he  can.    A  pretty 
sort  of  service,  indeed  !  where  there  are  neither  wages  nor  vails.     The 
45  2L 


530  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

muses  !  and  what,  I  suppose  this  is  the  livery  they  give.  Gadzooks  !  I 
had  rather  be  a  waiter  at  Ranelagh. 

Sever.  The  poet  and  publisher  at  variance  !  what  is  the  matter,  Mr. 
Dactyl  ? 

J)act.  As  gad  shall  judge  me,  Mr.  Bever,  as  pretty  a  poem,  and  so 
polite ;  not  a  mortal  can  take  any  offence ;  all  full  of  panegyric  and 
praise. 

Puff.  A  fine  character  he  gives  of  his  works.  No  offence !  the 
greatest  in  the  world,  Mr.  Dactyl.  Panegyric  and  praise !  and  what 
will  that  do  with  the  public !  why,  who  the  devil  will  give  money  to 
be  told  that  Mr.  Such-a-one  is  a  wiser  or  better  man  than  himself?  no, 
no ;  'tis  quite  and  clean  out  of  nature.  A  good  sousing  satire  now, 
well  powdered  with  personal  pepper,  and  seasoned  with  the  spirit  of 
party ;  that  demolishes  a  conspicuous  character,  and  sinks  him  below 
our  own  level;  there,  there,  we  are  pleased;  there  we  chuckle,  and 
grin,  and  toss  the  half-crowns  on  the  counter. 

Dact.     Yes,  and  so  get  cropped  for  a  libel. 

Puff.  Cropped  !  ay,  and  the  luckiest  thing  that  can  happen  to  you. 
Why,  I  would  not  give  two-pence  for  an  author  that  is  afraid  of  his 
ears.  Writing,  writing  is,  as  I  may  say,  Mr.  Dactyl,  a  sort  of  a  war- 
fare, where  none  can  be  victor  that  is  the  least  afraid  of  a  scar.  Why, 
zooks,  sir,  I  never  got  salt  to  my  porridge  till  I  mounted  at  the  Royal 
Exchange. 

Bev.     Indeed ! 

Puff.  No,  no ;  that  was  the  making  of  me.  Then  my  name  made 
a  noise  in  the  world.  Talk  of  forked  hills,  and  Helicon  !  romantic  and 
fabulous  stuff.  The  true  Castalian  stream  is  a  shower  of  eggs,  and  a 
pillory  the  poet's  Parnassus. 

Dact.  Ay,  to  you  indeed  it  may  answer  ;  but  what  do  we  get  for  our 
pains  ? 

Puff.  Why,  what  the  deuce  would  you  get?  food,  fire,  and  fame. 
Why,  you  would  not  grow  fat !  a  corpulent  poet  is  a  monster,  a  pro- 
digy !  No,  no  ;  spare  diet  is  a  spur  to  the  fancy  ;  high  feeding  would 
but  founder  your  Pegasus. 

Dact.  Why,  you  impudent,  illiterate  rascal !  who  is  it  you  dare 
treat  in  this  manner? 

Puff.     Heyday  !  what  is  the  matter  now  ? 

Dact.  And  is  this  the  return  for  all  the  obligations  you  owe  me  1 
but  no  matter ;  the  world,  the  world  shall  know  what  you  are,  and  how 
you  have  used  me. 

Puff.     Do  your  worst ;  I  despise  you. 

Dact.  They  shall  be  told  from  what  a  dunghill  you  sprang.  Gen- 
tlemen, if  there  be  faith  in  a  sinner,  that  fellow  owes  every  shilling 
to  me. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  531 

Puff.     To  thee ! 

Dact.  Ay,  sirrah,  to  me.  In  what  kind  of  way  did  I  find  you? 
then  where  and  what  was  your  state  ?  Gentlemen,  his  shop  was  a  shed 
in  Moorfields  ;  his  kitchen,  a  broken  pipkin  of  charcoal ;  and  his  bed- 
chamber under  the  counter. 

Puff.     I  never  was  fond  of  expense  ;  I  ever  minded  my  trade. 

Dact.  Your  trade  !  and  pray  with  what  stock  did  you  trade  ?  I  can 
give  you  the  catalogue  ;  I  believe  it  won't  overburthen  my  memory. 
Two  odd  volumes  of  Swift ;  the  Life  of  Moll  Flanders,  with  cuts ;  the 
Five  Senses,  printed  and  colored  by  Overton  ;  a  few  classics,  thumbed 
and  blotted  by  the  boys  of  the  charter-house ;  with  the  Trials  of  Dr. 
Sacheverel. 

Puff.     Malice. 

Dact.  Then,  sirrah,  I  gave  you  my  Canning :  it  was  she  first  set 
you  afloat. 

Puff.     A  grub. 

Dact.  And  it  is  not  only  my  writings  ;  you  know,  sirrah,  what  you 
owe  to  my  physic. 

Bev.     How  !  a  physician  ? 

Dact.  Yes,  Mr.  Bever ;  physic  and  poetry.  Apollo  is  the  patron  of 
both  :  opiferque  per  orbem  dicor. 

Puff.     His  physic ! 

Dact.  My  physic :  ay,  my  physic :  why,  dare  you  deny  it,  you  rascal! 
What,  have  you  forgot  my  powders  ? 

Puff.     No. 

Dact.     My  cosmetic  lozenge,  and  sugar-plums  ? 

Puff.     No. 

Dact.  My  coral  for  cutting  of  teeth,  my  potions,  my  lotions,  my 
paste  for  superfluous  hairs  ? 

Puff.     No,  no  ;  have  you  done  ? 

Dact.     No,  no,  no  ;  but  I  believe  this  will  suffice  for  the  present. 

Puff.  Now,  would  not  any  mortal  believe  that  I  owed  my  all  to  this 
fellow? 

Bev.     Why,  indeed,  Mr.  Puff,  the  balance  does  seem  in  his  favor. 

Puff.  In  his  favor  !  why,  you  don't  give  any  credit  to  him:  a  rep- 
tile, a  bug,  that  owes  his  very  being  to  me  ? 

Dact.     I,  I,  1 1 

Puff.  You,  you  !  what,  I  suppose,  you  forget  your  garret  in  Wine- 
office-court,  when  you  furnished  paragraphs  for  the  farthing-post  at 
twelve-pence  a  dozen. 

Dact.     Fiction. 

Puff.  Then,  did  not  I  get  you  made  collector  of  casualties  to  the 
Whitehall  and  St.  James's?  but  that  post  your^laziness  lost  you.  Gentle- 
men, he  never  brought  them  a  robbery  till  the  highwayman  was  going 


532          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

to  be  hanged  ;  a  birth  till  the  christening  was  over ;  nor  a  death  till 
the  hatchment  was  up. 

Dad.     Mighty  well ! 

Puff.  And  now,  because  the  fellow  has  got  a  little  in  flesh,  by  being 
puff  to  the  play-house  this  winter,  to  which,  by  the  by,  I  got  him 
appointed,  he  is  as  proud  and  as  vain  as  Voltaire.  But  I  shall  soon 
have  him  under ;  the  vacation  will  come. 

Dact.     Let  it. 

Puff.  Then  I  shall  have  him  sneaking  and  cringing,  hanging  about 
me,  and  begging  a  bit  of  translation. 

Dact.     I  beg,  I,  for  translation ! 

Puff.  No,  no,  not  a  line ;  not  if  you  would  do  it  for  two-pence  a 
sheet.  No  boiled  beef  and  carrot  at  mornings ;  no  more  cold  pudding 
and  porter.  You  may  take  your  leave  of  my  shop. 

Dact.     Your  shop !  then  at  parting  I  will  leave  you  a  legacy. 

Bev.     0  fy,  Mr.  Dactyl ! 

Puff.     Let  him  alone. 

Dact.     Pray,  gentlemen,-  let  me  do  myself  justice. 

Bev.     Younger,  restrain  the  publisher's  fire. 

Younger.  Fy,  gentlemen,  such  an  illiberal  combat — it  is  a  scandal  to 
the  republic  of  letters. 

Bev.     Mr.  Dactyl,  an  old  man,  a  mechanic,  beneath — 

Dact.  Sir,  I  am  calm ;  that  thought  has  restored  me.  To  your 
insignificancy  you  are  indebted  for  safety.  But  what  my  generosity 
has  saved,  my  pen  shall  destroy. 

Puff.     Then  you  must  get  somebody  to  mend  it. 

Dact.     Adieu ! 

Puff.    Farewell !  [Exeunt  severally. 

Bev.    Ha,  ha,  ha !  come,  let  us  along  to  the  square. 

Blockheads  with  reason  wicked  wits  abhor, 
But  dunce  with  dunce  is  barbarous  civil  war. 

From  "  The  Patron." 


THE   HYPOCKITE   UNMASKED. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Lofty.  Is  the  coast  clear  ?  None  but  friends  ?  I  have  followed  you 
here  with  a  trifling  piece  of  intelligence  ;  but  it  goes  no  farther ;  things 
are  not  yet  ripe  for  a  discovery.  I  have  spirits  working  at  a  certain 
board ;  your  affair  at  the  Treasury  will  be  done  in  less  than — a  thou- 
sand years.  Mum ! 

Miss  RicMand.    Sooner,  sir,  I  should  hope. 

Lofty.    Why,  yes,  I  believe  it  may,  if  it  falls  into  proper  hands,  that 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  533 

know  where  to  push  and  where  to  parry ;  that  know  how  the  land  lies 
— eh,  Honey  wood  ? 

Miss  Rich.    It  is  fallen  into  yours. 

Lofty.  Well,  to  keep  you  no  longer  in  suspense,  your  thing  is  done. 
It  is  done,  I  say — that's  all.  I  have  just  had  assurances  from  Lord 
Neverout,  that  the  claim  has  been  examined,  and  found  admissible. 
Quietus  is  the  word,  Madam. 

Honeywood.  But  how  ?  his  lordship  has  been  at  Newmarket  these 
ten  days. 

Lofty.  Indeed!  Then  Sir  Gilbert  Goose  must  have  been  most 
thoroughly  mistaken.  I  had  it  of  him. 

Miss  Rich.  He !  why  Sir  Gilbert  and  his  family  have  been  in  the 
country  this  month. 

Lofty.  This  month!  It  must  certainly  be  so — Sir  Gilbert's  letter 
did  come  to  me  from  Newmarket,  so  that  he  must  have  met  his 
lordship  there;  and  so  it  came  about.  I  have  his  letter  about  me; 
Fll  read  it  to  you — [Taking  out  a  large  bundle].  That's  from  Paoli  of 
Corsica ;  that  from  the  Marquis  of  Squilachi. — Have  you  a  mind  to 
see  a  letter  from  Count  Poniatowski,  now  King  of  Poland  ? — Honest 
pon — [Searching.]  0,  sir,  what,  are  you  here,  too?  I'll  tell  you  what, 
honest  friend,  if  you  have  not  absolutely  delivered  my  letter  to  Sir 
William  Honeywood,  you  may  return  it.  The  thing  will  do  without 
him. 

Sir  William  Honeywood.  Sir,  I  have  delivered  it ;  and  must  inform 
you,  it  was  received  with  the  most  mortifying  contempt. 

Croaker.    Contempt !     Mr.  Lofty,  what  can  that  mean  ? 

Lofty.  Let  him  go  on,  let  him  go  on,  I  say.  You'll  find  it  come  to 
something  presently. 

Sir  Wm.  Yes,  sir ;  I  believe  you'll  be  amazed,  if  after  waiting  some 
time  in  the  ante-chamber ;  after  being  surveyed  with  insolent  curiosity 
by  the  passing  servants,  I  was  at  last  assured,  that  Sir  William  Honey- 
wood  knew  no  such  person,  and  I  must  certainly  have  been  imposed 
upon. 

Lofty.    Good !  let  me  die  ;  very  good.     Ha !  ha !  ha ! 

Cro.    Now,  for  my  life  I  can't  find  out  half  the  goodness  of  it. 

Lofty.    You  can't.     Ha !  ha  1 

Cro.  No,  for  the  soul  of  me !  I  think  it  was  as  confounded  a  bad 
answer  as  ever  was  sent  from  one  private  gentleman  to  another. 

Lofty.  And  so  you  can't  find  out  the  force  of  the  message  ?  Why, 
I  was  in  the  house  at  that  very  time.  Ha !  ha !  It  was  I  that  sent 
that  very  answer  to  my  own  letter.  Ha !  ha  ! 

Cro.    Indeed!     How?  why? 

Lofty.  In  one  word,  things  between  Sir  William  and  me  must  be 
behind  the  curtain.  A  party  has  many  eyes.  He  sides  with  Lord 
45* 


534  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Buzzard,  I  side  with  Sir  Gilbert  Goose.  So  that  unriddles  the  mys- 
tery. 

Cro.     And  so  it  does,  indeed  ;  and  all  my  suspicions  are  over. 

Lofty.  Your  suspicions!  What,  then,  you  have  been  suspecting, 
you  have  been  suspecting,  have  you  ?  Mr.  Croaker,  you  and  I  were 
friends ;  we  are  friends  no  longer.  Never  talk  to  me.  It's  over ;  I 
say,  it'*  over. 

Cro.  As  I  hope  for  your  favor  I  did  not  mean  to  offend.  It  escaped 
me.  Don't  be  discomposed. 

Lofty.  Zounds  !  sir,  but  I  am  discomposed,  and  will  be  discomposed. 
To  be  treated  thus !  Who  am  I  ?  Was  it  for  this  I  have  been  dreaded 
both  by  ins  and  outs?  Have  I  been  libelled  in  the  Gazetteer,  and 
praised  in  the  St.  James's  ?  have  I  been  chaired  at  Wildman's,  and  a 
speaker  at  Merchant  Tailors'  Hall  ?  have  I  had  my  hand  to  addresses, 
and  my  head  in  the  print-shops ;  and  talk  to  me  of  suspects  ? 

Cro.  My  dear  sir,  be  pacified.  What  can  you  have  but  asking 
pardon  ? 

Lofty.  Sir,  I  will  not  be  pacified— Suspects !  Who  am  I  ?  To  be 
used  thus !  Have  I  paid  court  to  men  in  favor  to  serve  my  friends ; 
the  Lords  of  the  Treasury,  Sir  William  Honeywood,  and  the  rest  of  the 
gang,  and  talk  to  me  of  suspects  ?  Whom  am  I,  I  say ;  who  am  I  ? 

Sir  Win.  Since,  sir,  you're  so  pressing  for  an  answer,  I'll  tell  you 
who  you  are : — A  gentleman,  as  well  acquainted  with  politics  as  with 
men  in  power ;  as  well  acquainted  with  persons  of  fashion  as  with 
modesty ;  with  Lords  of  the  Treasury  as  with  truth ;  and  with  all,  as 
you  are  with  Sir  William  Honeywood.  I  am  Sir  William  Honeywood. 
[Discovering  his  ensigns  of  the  Bath.] 

Cro.    Sir  William  Honeywood  ! 

Honey.    Astonishment !  my  uncle  !     [^siWe.] 

Lofty.  So  then,  my  confounded  genius  has  been  all  this  time  only 
leading  me  up  to  the  garret,  in  order  to  fling  me  out  of  the  window. 

Cro.  What,  Mr.  Importance,  and  are  these  your  works  ?  Suspect 
you !  You,  who  have  been  dreaded  by  the  ins  -and  outs ;  you,  who 
have  had  your  hand  to  addresses,  and  your  head  stuck  up  in  print- 
shops.  If  you  were  served  right,  you  should  have  your  head  stuck  up 
in  the  pillory. 

Lofty.  Ay,  stick  it  where  you  will ;  for,  I  feel  sure  it  cuts  but  a 
very  poor  figure  where  it  sticks  at  present. 

Sir  Win.  Well,  Mr.  Croaker,  1  hope  you  now  see  how  incapable  this 
gentleman  is  of  serving  you,  and  how  little  Miss  Richland  has  to  expect 
from  his  influence. 

Cro.  Ay,  sir,  too  well  I  see  it ;  and  I  can't  but  say  I  have  had  some 
boding  of  it  these  ten  days.  So,  I'm  resolved,  since  my  son  has  placed 
his  affections  on  a  lady  of  moderate  fortune,  to  be  satisfied  with  hie 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  535 

choice,  and  not  run  the  hazard  of  another  Mr.  Lofty  in  helping  him  to 
a  better. 

Sir  Wm.    I  approve  your  resolution ;  and  here  they  come  to  receive 
a  confirmation  of  your  pardon  and  consent. 

From  "  The  Good-Natured  Man." 


JONES   AT  THE   BAKBER'S   SHOP. 

PUNCH. 

SCENE. — A  Barber's  Shop.     Barber's  men  engaged  in  cutting  hair,  mak- 
ing wigs,  and  other  barberesque  operations. 

Enter  JONES,  meeting  OILY  the  barber. 

Jones.     I  wish  my  hair  cut. 

Oily.     Pray,  sir,  take  a  seat. 

[  Oily  puts  a  chair  for  Jones,  who  sits.     During  the  following  dia- 
logue, Oily  continues  cutting  Jones's  hair.] 

Oily.     We've  had  much  wet,  sir. 

Jones.     Very  much,  indeed. 

Oily.     And  yet  November's  early  days  were  fine. 

Jones.     They  were. 

Oily.     I  hoped  fair  weather  might  have  lasted  us 
Until  the  end. 

Jones.     At  one  time — so  did  I. 

Oily.     But  we  have  had  it  very  wet. 

Jones.     We  have.  [A  pause  of  some  minutes. 

Oily.     I  know  not,  sir,  who  cut  your  hair  last  time  ; 
But  this  I  say,  sir,  it  was  badly  cut : 
No  doubt  'twas  in  the  country. 

Jones.     No  !  in  town  ! 

Oily.     Indeed  !  I  should  have  fancied  otherwise. 

Jones.     'Twas  cut  in  town — and  in  this  very  room. 

Oily.     Amazement ! — But  I  now  remember  well. 
We  had  an  awkward,  new  provincial  hand, 
A  fellow  from  the  country.    Sir,  he  did 
More  damage  to  my  business  in  a  week 
Than  all  my  skill  can  in  a  year  repair. 
He  must  have  cut  your  hair. 

Jones.     [Looking  at  him.]     No — 'twas  yourself. 

Oily.     Myself!     Impossible!     You  must  mistake. 

Jones.     I  don't  mistake — 'twas  you  that  cut  my  hair. 

[A  long  pause,  interrupted  only  by  the  clipping  of  the  scissors. 

Oily.     Your  hair  is  very  dry,  sir. 

Jones.    Oh !  indeed. 


536          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Oily.     Our  Vegetable  Extract  moistens  it. 

Jones.     I  like  it  dry. 

Oily.     But,  sir,  the  hair  when  dry 
Turns  quickly  gray. 

Jones.     That  color  I  prefer. 

Oily.     But  hair,  when  gray,  will  rapidly  fall  off, 
And  baldness  will  ensue. 

Jones.     I  would  be  bald. 

Oily.     Perhaps  you  mean  to  say  you'd  like  a  wig — 
We've  wigs  so  natural  they  can't  be  told 
From  real  hair. 

Jones.     Deception  I  detest. 

[ Another  pause  ensues,  during  which  Oily  blows  down  Jones's  neck, 
and  relieves  him  from  the  linen  wrapper  in  which  he  has  been 
enveloped  during  the  process  of  hair-cutting. 

Oily.     We've  brushes,  soaps,  and  scent,  of  every  kind. 

Jones.     I  see  you  have.     [Pays  Qd.]     I  think  you'll  find  that  right. 

Oily.     Is  there  nothing  I  can  show  you,  sir  ? 

Jones.     No :  nothing.     Yet — there  may  be  something,  too, 
liiat  you  may  show  me. 

Oily.     Name  it,  sir. 

Jones.     The  door.  [Exit  Jones. 

Oily.     [To  his  man.}     That's  a  rum  customer  at  any  rate. 
Had  I  cut  him  as  short  as  he  cut  me, 
How  little  hair  upon  his  head  would  be ! 
But  if  kind  friends  will  all  our  pains  requite, 
We'll  hope  for  better  luck  another  night. 

[Shop-bell  rings  and  curtain  falls. 


SCENE   FROM   BOMBASTES   FURIOSO. 

ARTAXOMINOUS  in  his  Chair  of  State. — A  table,  set  out  with  bowls, 
glasses,  pipes,  &c. — Attendants  on  each  side. 

1st  Att.    What  will  your  Majesty  please  to  wear  ? 
Or  blue,  green,  red,  black,  white,  or  brown  ? 
2d  Att.     D'ye  choose  to  look  at  the  bill  of  fare  ? 
Art.     Get  out  of  my  sight,  or  I'll  knock  you  down. 
2d  Att.    Here  is  soup,  fish,  or  goose,  or  duck,  or  fowl,  or  pigeons, 
pig,  or  hare ; 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  537 

1st  Alt.     Blue,  green,  or  red,  or  black,  white,  or  brown, 
What  will  your  Majesty,  &c. 

Art.     Get  out  of  my  sight,  &c.  [Exeunt  Attendants. 

Enter  FUSBOS,  and  kneels  to  the  King. 

Fus.     Hail,  Artaxominous  !  ycleped  the  Great ! 
I  oome,  an  humble  pillar  of  thy  state, 
Pregnant  with  news — but  ere  that  news  I  tell, 
First  let  me  hope  your  Majesty  is  well. 

Art.     Rise,  learned  Fusbos  !  rise,  my  friend,  and  know, 
We  are  but  middling — that  is,  but  so  so. 

Fus.     Only  so  so!     Oh,  monstrous,  doleful  thing! 
Is  it  the  cholera  affects  the  king  ? 
Or,  dropping  poisons  in  the  cup  of  joy, 
Do  the  blue  devils  your  repose  annoy  ? 

Art.     Nor  cholera,  nor  devils  blue  are  here, 
But  yet  we  feel  ourself  a  little  queer. 

Fus.     Yes,  I  perceive  it  in  that  vacant  eye, 
The  vest  unbuttoned,  and  the  wig  awry : 
So  sickly  cats  neglect  their  fur-attire, 
And  sit  and  mope  beside  the  kitchen  fire. 

Art.     Last  night,  when  undisturbed  by  state  affairs, 
Moistening  our  clay,  and  puffing  off  our  cares, 
Oft  the  replenished  goblet  did  we  drain, 
And  drank  and  smoked,  and  smoked  and  drank  again  ; 
Such  was  the  case,  our  very  actions  such, 
Until  at  length  we  got  a  drop  too  much. 

Fus.     So,  when  some  donkey  on  the  Blackheath  road 
Falls,  overpowered,  beneath  his  sandy  load, 
The  driver's  curse  unheeded  swells  the  air, 
Since  none  can  carry  more  than  they  can  bear. 

Art.     The  sapient  Doctor  Muggins  came  in  haste, 
Who  suits  his  physic  to  his  patients'  taste  ; 
He,  knowing  well  on  what  our  heart  is  set, 
Hath  just  prescribed  "  to  take  a  morning  whet ;" 
The  very  sight  each  sickening  pain  subdues, 
Then  sit,  my  Fusbos,  sit,  and  tell  thy  news. 

Fus.     [Sits.]     General  Bom  bastes,  whose  resistless  force 
Alone  exceeds  by  far  a  brewer's  horse, 
Returns  victorious,  bringing  mines  of  wealth  ! 

Art.     Does  he?  by  jingo!  then  we'll  drink  his  health. 

[Drum  andjife. 

Fus.     But  hark  !  with  loud  acclaim,  the  fife  and  drum 
Announce  your  army  near ;  behold,  they  come  ! 

[Drum  andjife  again. 


538  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Enter  BOMBASTES,  attended  by  one  Drummer,  one  Fifer,  and  two  Sol- 
diers, all  very  materially  differing  in  size. 

Bom.     [To  Army.]     Meet  me  this  evening  at  the  Barley-Mow ; 
I'll  bring  your  pay,  you  see  Fm  busy  now  : 
Begone,  brave  army,  and  don't  kick  up  a  row. 

[Exeunt  Soldiers. 

[To  the  King.]     Thrashed  are  your  foes — this  watch  and  silken  string, 
Worn  by  their  chief,  I  as  a  trophy  bring ; 
I  knocked  him  down,  then  snatched  it  from  his  fob ; 
"  Watch,  watch  !"  he  cried,  when  I  had  done  the  job ; 
"  My  watch  is  gone/'  says  he — says  I,  "Just  so  ; 
Stop  where  you  are — watches  were  made  to  go." 

Art.     For  which  we  make  you  Duke  of  Strombelo. 

[Bombastes  kneels — the  King  dubs  him  with  a  pipe,  and  then  presents 

the  bowl. 

From  our  own  bowl  here  drink,  my  soldier  true ; 
And  if  you'd  like  to  take  a  whiff  or  two, 
He  whose  brave  arm  hath  made  our  foes  to  crouch, 
Shall  have  a  pipe  from  this,  our  royal  pouch. 

Bom.     [Rises.]     Honors  so  great  have  all  my  toils  repaid. 
My  liege,  and  Fusbos,  here's  "  Success  to  trade." 

Fus.     Well  said,  Bombastes  !  since  thy  mighty  blows 
Have  given  a  quietus  to  our  foes, 
Now  shall  our  farmers  gather  in  their  crops, 
And  busy  tradesmen  mind  their  crowded  shops  ; 
The  deadly  havoc  of  war's  hatchet  cease  ; 
Now  shall  we  smoke  the  calumet  of  peace. 

Art.     I  shall  smoke  short-cut,  you  smoke  what  you  please. 

Bom.     Whatever  your  majesty  shall  deign  to  name, 
Short  cut  or  long  to  me  is  all  the  same. 

Bom.  &  Fus.     In  short,  so  long  as  we  your  favors  claim, 
Short  cut  or  long  to  us  is  all  the  same. 

Art.     Thanks,  generous  friends  !  now  list  whilst  I  impart 
How  firm  you're  locked  and  bolted  in  my  heart : 
So  long  as  this  here  pouch  a  pipe  contains, 
Or  a  full  glass  in  that  there  bowl  remains, 
To  you  an  equal  portion  shall  belong ; 
This  I  do  swear,  and  now — let's  have  a  song.  « 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  539 

CONJUGAL   QUAKEELS. 

B.  B.  SHERIDAN. 
Enter  LADY  TEAZLE  and  SIR  PETER. 

Sir  Peter.     Lady  Teazle,  Lady  Teazle,  Hi  not  bear  it ! 

Lady  Teazle.  Sir  Peter,  Sir  Peter,  you  may  bear  it  or  not,  as  you 
please ;  but  I  ought  to  have  my  own  way  in  everything ;  and  what's 
more,  I  will  too.  What !  though  I  was  educated  in  the  country,  I  know 
very  well  that  women  of  fashion  in  London  are  accountable  to  nobody 
after  they  are  married. 

Sir  P.  Very  well,  ma'm,  very  well — so  a  husband  is  to  have  no 
influence,  no  authority  ? 

Lady  T.  Authority !  No,  to  be  sure : — if  you  wanted  authority 
over  me,  you  should  have  adopted  me,  and  not  married  me :  I  am  sure 
you  were  old  enough. 

Sir  P.  Old  enough !— ay— there  it  is.  Well,  well,  Lady  Teazle, 
though  my  life  may  be  made  unhappy  by  your  temper,  I'll  not  be 
ruined  by  your  extravagance. 

Lady  T.  My  extravagance !  I'm  sure  I'm  not  more  extravagant 
than  a  woman  ought  to  be. 

Sir  P.  No,  no,  madam,  you  shall  throw  away  no  more  sums  on 
such  unmeaning  luxury.  'Slife  !  to  spend  as  much  to  furnish  your 
dressing-room  with  flowers  in  winter  as  would  suffice  to  turn  the  Pan- 
theon into  a  green-house,  and  give  a  fete  champ^tre  at  Christmas. 

Lady  T.  La  !  Sir  Peter,  am  I  to  blame,  because  flowers  are  dear 
in  cold  weather  ?  You  should  find  fault  with  the  climate,  and  not  with 
me.  For  my  part,  I'm  sure,  I  wish  it  was  spring  all  the  year  round, 
and  that  roses  grew  under  our  feet ! 

Sir  P.  Oons ! — madam — if  you  had  been  born  to  this,  I  shouldn't 
wonder  at  your  talking  thus ;  but  you  forget  what  your  situation  was 
when  I  married  you. 

Lady  T.  No,  no,  I  don't ;  'twas  a  very  disagreeable  one,  or  I  should 
never  have  married  you. 

Sir  P.  Yes,  yes,  madam,  you  were  then  in  somewhat  a  humbler 
style : — the  daughter  of  a  plain  country  squire.  Recollect,  Lady  Tea- 
zle, when  I  saw  you  first  sitting  at  your  tambour,  in  a  pretty  figured 
linen  gown,  with  a  bunch  of  keys  at  your  side ;  your  hair  combed 
smooth  over-  a  roll,  and  your  apartment  hung  round  with  fruits  in 
worsted  of  your  own  working. 

Lady  T.  0  yes  !  I  remember  it  very  well,  and  a  curious  life  I  led. — 
My  daily  occupation  to  inspect  the  dairy,  superintend  the  poultry, 
make  extracts  from  the  family  receipt  book, — and  comb  my  aunt  Debo- 
rah's lap-dog. 

Sir  P.     Yes,  yes,  ma'am,  'twas  so  indeed. 


540  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Lady  T.  And  then,  you  know,  my  evening  amusements !  To  draw 
patterns  for  ruffles,  which  I  had  not  materials  to  make  up ;  to  play 
Pope  Joan  with  the  curate  ;  to  read  a  novel  to  my  aunt ;  or  to  be  stuck 
down  to  an  old  spinet  to  strum  my  father  to  sleep  after  a  fox-chase. 

Sir  P.  I  am  glad  you  have  so  good  a  memory.  Yes,  madam,  these 
were  the  recreations  I  took  you  from ;  but  now  you  must  have  your 
coach — vis-a-vis — and  three  powdered  footmen  before  your  chair  ;  and, 
in  the  summer,  a  pair  of  white  cats  to  draw  you  to  Kensington  Gar- 
dens. No  recollection,  I  suppose,  when  you  were  content  to  ride 
double,  behind  the  butler,  on  a  docked  coach-horse. 

Lady  T.  No — I  declare  I  never  did  that :  I  deny  the  butler  and  the 
coach-horse. 

Sir  P.  This  madam,  was  your  situation  ;  and  what  have  I  done  for 
^cm?  I  have  made  you  a  woman  of  fashion,  of  fortune,  of  rank;  in 
short,  I  have  made  you  my  wife. 

Lady  T.  Well,  then, — and  there  is  but  one  thing  more  you  can 
make  me  add  to  the  obligation,  and  that  is 

Sir  P.    My  widow,  I  suppose  ? 

Lady  T.     Hem !  hem  ! 

Sir  P.  I  thank  you,  madam — but  don't  natter  yourself;  for  though 
your  ill  conduct  may  disturb  my  peace  of  mind,  it  shall  never  break 
my  heart,  I  promise  you :  however,  I  am  equally  obliged  to  you  for 
the  hint. 

Lady  T.  Then  why  will  you  endeavor  to  make  yourself  so  disagree- 
able to  me,  and  thwart  me  in  every  little  elegant  expense  ? 

Sir  P.  'Slife,  madam,  I  say,  had  you  any  of  these  little  elegant 
expenses  when  you  married  me  ? 

Lady  T.    Lud,  Sir  Peter !  would  you  have  me  be  out  of  the  fashion  ? 

Sir  P.  The  fashion,  indeed  !  What  had  you  to  do  with  the  fashion 
before  you  married  me  ? 

Lady  T.  For  my  part,  I  should  think  you  would  like  to  have  your 
wife  thought  a  woman  of  taste. 

Sir  P.  Ay — there  again — taste — Zounds !  madam,  you  had  no  taste 
when  you  married  me  ! 

Lady  T.  That's  very  true  indeed,  Sir  Peter ;  and  after  having  mar- 
ried you  I  should  never  pretend  to  taste  again,  I  allow.  But  now,  Sir 
Peter,  since  we  have  finished  our  daily  jangle,  I  presume  I  may  go  to 
my  engagement  at  Lady  Sneerwell's. 

Sir  P.  Ay,  there's  another  precious  circumstance — a  charming  set 
of  acquaintance  you  have  made  there. 

Lady  T.  Nay,  Sir  Peter,  they  are  all  people  of  rank  and  fortune, 
and  remarkably  tenacious  of  reputation. 

Sir  P.  Yes,  egad,  they  are  tenacious  of  reputation  with  a  ven- 
geance :  for  they  don't  choose  anybody  should  have  a  character  but 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  541 

themselves  ! — Such  a  crew !  Ah  !  many  a  wretch  has  rid  on  a  hurdle 
who  has  done  less  mischief  than  these  utterers  of  forged  tales,  coiners 
of  scandal,  and  clippers  of  reputation. 

Lady  T.     What  I  would  you  restrain  the  freedom  of  speech  ? 

Sir  P.  Ah !  they  have  made  you  just  as  bad  as  any  one  of  the 
society. 

Lady  T.     Why,  I  believe  I  do  bear  a  part  with  a  tolerable  grace. 

Sir  P.     Grace,  indeed  ! 

Lady  T.  But  I  vow  I  bear  no  malice  against  the  people  I  abuse. 
When  I  say  an  ill-natured  thing,  'tis  out  of  pure  good  humor ;  and  I 
take  it  for  granted,  they  deal  exactly  in  the  same  manner  with  me. 
But,  Sir  Peter,  you  know  you  promised  to  come  to  Lady  SneerwelPs 
too. 

Sir  P.     Well,  well,  I'll  call  in  just  to  look  after  my  own  character. 

Lady  T.  Then  indeed  you  must  make  haste  after  me,  or  you'll  be 
too  late.  So,  good  bye  to  ye.  [Exit  LADY  TEAZLE. 

Sir  P.  So — I  have  gained  much  by  my  intended  expostulation : 
yet,  with  what  a  charming  air  she  contradicts  everything  I  say,  and 
how  pleasingly  she  shows  her  contempt  for  my  authority  !  Well, 
though  I  can't  make  her  love  me,  there  is  great  satisfaction  in  quarrel- 
ling with  her ;  and  I  think  she  never  appears  to  such  advantage,  as 
when  she  is  doing  everything  in  her  power  to  plague  me. 

From  "  School  for  Scandal." 


AWKWARD   SERVANTS.      . 

GOLDSMITH. 
Enter  HARDCASTLE,  followed  by  three  or  four  awkward  Servants. 

Hardcastle.  Well,  I  hope  you  are  perfect  in  the  table  exercise  I 
have  been  teaching  you  these  three  days.  You  all  know  your  posts 
and  your  places,  and  can  show  that  you  have  been  used  to  good  com- 
pany, without  ever  stirring  from  home. 

Omnes.    Ay,  ay. 

Hard.  When  company  comes,  you  are  not  to  pop  out  and  stare,  and 
then  run  in  again,  like  frighted  rabbits  in  a  warren. 

Omnes.    No,  no. 

Hard.  You,  Diggory,  whom  I  have  taken  from  the  barn,  are  to 
make  a  show  at  the  side-table  ;  and  you,  Roger,  whom  I  have  advanced 
from  the  plough,  are  to  place  yourself  behind  my  chair.  But  you're 
not  to  stand  so,  with  your  hands  in  your  pockets.  Take  your  hands 
from  your  pockets,  Roger ;  and  from  your  head,  you  blockhead  you. 
See  how  Diggory  carries  his  hands.  They're  a  little  too  stiff,  indeed, 
but  that's  no  great  matter. 

Diggory.  Ay,  mind  how  I  hold  them.  I  learned  to  hold  my  hands 
46 


542  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

this  way  when  I  was  upon  drill  for  the  militia.     And  so  being  upon 
drill 

Hard.  You  must  not  be  so  talkative,  Diggory.  You  must  be  all 
attention  to  the  guests.  You  must  hear  us  talk,  and  not  think  of  talk- 
ing ;  you  must  see  us  drink,  and  not  think  of  drinking ;  you  must  see 
us  eat,  and  not  think  of  eating. 

Dig.  By  the  laws,  your  worship,  that's  parfectly  unpossible.  When- 
ever Diggory  sees  yeating  going  forward,  ecod  he's  always  wishing  for 
a  mouthful  himself. 

Hard.  Blockhead  !  Is  not  a  belly-full  in  the  kitchen  as  good  as  a 
belly-full  in  the  parlor?  Stay  your  stomach  with  that  reflection. 

Dig.  Ecod,  I  thank  your  worship,  I'll  make  a  shift  to  stay  my 
stomach  with  a  slice  of  cold  beef  in  the  pantry. 

Hard.  Diggory,  you  are  too  talkative. — Then,  if  I  happen  to  say  a 
good  thing,  or  tell  a  good  story  at  table,  you  must  not  all  burst  out 
a-laughing,  as  if  you  made  part  of  the  company. 

Dig.  Then,  ecod,  your  worship  must  not  tell  the  story  of  Ould  Grouse 
in  the  gun-room  :  I  can't  help  laughing  at  that — he  !  he !  he ! — for  the 
soul  of  me.  We  have  laughed  at  that  these  twenty  years — ha !  ha  !  ha ! 

Hard.  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  The  story  is  a  good  one.  Well,  honest  Dig- 
gory, you  may  laugh  at  that — but  still  remember  to  be  attentive. 
Suppose  one  of  the  company  should  call  for  a  glass  of  wine,  how  will 
you  behave?  A  glass  of  wine,  sir,  if  you  please,  [to  DIGGORY]. — Eh, 
why  don't  you  move  ? 

Dig.  Ecod,  your  worship,  I  never  have  courage  till  I  see  the  eata- 
bles and  drinkables  brought  upo'  the  table,  and  then  I'm  as  bauld  as  a 
lion. 

Hard.    What,  will  nobody  move  ? 

First  Servant.    I'm  not  to  leave  this  pleace. 

Second  Servant.    I'm  sure  it's  no  pleace  of  mine. 

Third  Servant.    Nor  mine,  for  sartain. 

Dig.    Wauns,  and  I'm  sure  it  canna  be  mine. 

Hard.  You  numskulls!  and  so  while,  like  your  betters,  you  are 
quarrelling  for  places,  the  guests  must  be  starved.  0  you  dunces !  I 

find  I  must  begin  all  over  again But  don't  I  hear  a  coach  drive  into 

the  yard  ?     To  your  posts,  you  blockheads.     I'll  go  in  the  mean  time 
and  give  my  old  friend's  son  a  hearty  reception  at  the  gate. 

[Exit  HARDCASTLE. 

Dig.    By  the  elevens,  my  pleace  is  gone  quite  out  of  my  head. 

Roger.    I  know  that  my  pleace  is  to  be  everywhere. 

First  Servant.    Where  the  deuce  is  mine  ? 

Second  Servant.  My  pleace  is  to  be  nowhere  at  all ;  and  so  I'ze  go 
about  my  business. 

From  "  Stt£  Stoops  to  Conquer." 


EXTRACTS  PROM  THE  DRAMA.  543 


ENTHUSIASM    OF   THE   HUNTEESS. 

D.  L.  BOURCICADLT. 

SCENE. — MAX  HARKAWAY'S  Drawing  Room. 

Present,  GRACE,  MAX  HARK  A  WAY,  SIR  HARCOURT  COURTLY,  YOUNG 
COURTLY,  and  DAZZLE. — JAMES  announces  MR.  ADOLPHUS  and  Lady 
GAY  SPANKER. 

[Enter  LADY  GAY,  fully  equipped  in  riding  habit,  &c.] 

Lady  Gay.  Ha !  ha !  Well,  governor,  how  are  ye  ?  I  have  been 
down  five  times,  climbing  up  your  stairs  in  my  long  clothes.  How  are 
you,  Grace,  dear  ?  [Kisses  Jier.]  There,  don't  fidget,  Max.  And  there — 
[kisses  him]  there's  one  for  you. 

Sir  Harcourt.     Ahem ! 

Lady  Gay.     Oh,  gracious,  I  didn't  see  you  had  visitors. 

Max.  Permit  me  to  introduce — Sir  Harcourt  Courtly,  Lady  Gay 
Spanker.  Mr.  Dazzle,  Mr.  Hamilton — Lady  Gay  Spanker. 

Sir  H.   [Aside.]     A  very  fine  woman  I 

Dazzle.  [Aside  to  Sir  H.]     She's  a  very  fine  woman. 

Lady  Gay.  You  mustn't  think  anything  of  the  liberties  I  take  with 
my  old  papa  here — bless  him  ! 

Sir  H.  Oh,  no  !  [Aside.]  I  only  thought  I  should  like  to  be  in  his 
place. 

Lady  Gay.  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,  Sir  Harcourt.  Now  we 
shall  be  able  to  made  a  decent  figure  at  the  heels  of  a  hunt. 

Sir  H.     Does  your  ladyship  hunt  ? 

Lady  Gay.  Ha !  I  say,  governor,  does  my  ladyship  hunt?  I  rather 
flatter  myself  that  I  do  hunt !  Why,  Sir  Harcourt,  one  might  as  well 
live  without  laughing  as  without  hunting.  Man  was  fashioned  expressly 
to  fit  a  horse.  Are  not  hedges  and  ditches  created  for  leaps?  Of 
course !  And  I  look  upon  foxes  to  be  one  of  the  most  blessed  dispen- 
sations of  a  benign  Providence. 

Sir  H.     Yes,  it  is  all  very  well  in  the  abstract :  I  tried  it  once. 

Lady  Gay.    Once  ;    Only  once  ? 

Sir  H.     Once,  only  once.     And  then  the  animal  ran  away  with  me. 

Lady  Gay.     Why,  you  would  not  have  him  walk  ? 

Sir  H.  Finding  my  society  disagreeable,  he  instituted  a  series  of 
kicks,  with  a  view  to  removing  the  annoyance  ;  but  aided  by  the  united 
stays  of  the  mane  and  tail,  I  frustrated  his  intentions.  [All  laugh.] 
His  next  resource,  however,  was  more  effectual,  for  he  succeeded  in 
rubbing  me  off  against  a  tree. 

Max  and  Lady  Gay.     Ha !  ha !  ha  ! 

Daz.  How  absurd  you  must  have  looked,  with  your  legs  and  arms 
in  the  air,  like  a  shipwrecked  tea-table  ! 


544          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Sir  H.  Sir,  I  never  looked  absurd  in  my  life.  Ah,  it  may  be  very 
amusing  in  relation,  I  dare  say,  but  very  unpleasant  in  effect. 

Lady  Gay.  I  pity  you,  Sir  Harcourt ;  it  was  criminal  in  your  parents 
to  neglect  your  education  so  shamefully. 

Sir  H.  Possibly ;  but  be  assured,  I  shall  never  break  my  neck  awk- 
wardly from  a  horse,  when  it  might  be  accomplished  with  less  trouble 
from  a  bed-room  window. 

Young  Courtly.  [Aside.]  My  dad  will  be  caught  by  this  she-Buce- 
phalus-tamer. 

Max.  Ah  !  Sir  Harcourt,  had  you  been  here  a  month  ago,  you  would 
have  witnessed  the  most  glorious  run  that  ever  swept  over  merry  Eng- 
land's green  cheek — a  steeple-chase,  sir,  which  I  intended  to  win,  but 
my  horse  broke  down  the  day  before.  I  had  a  chance,  notwithstand- 
ing, and  but  for  Gay  here,  J  should  have  won.  How  I  regretted  my 
absence  from  it !  How  did  my  filly  behave  herself,  Gay  ? 

Lady  Gay.  Gloriously,  Max !  gloriously  !  There  were  sixty  horses 
in  the  field,  all  mettle  to  the  bone :  the  start  was  a  picture — away  we 
went  in  a  cloud — pell-mell — helter-skelter — the  fools  first,  as  usual, 
using  themselves  up — we  soon  passed  them — first  your  Kitty,  then  my 
Blueskin,  and  Craven's  colt  last.  Then  came  the  tug — Kitty  skimmed 
the  walls — Blueskin  flew  over  the  fences — the  Colt  neck-and-neck,  and 
half  a  mile  to  run — at  last  the  Colt  baulked  a  leap  and  went  wild. 
Kitty  and  I  had  it  all  to  ourselves — she  was  three  lengths  ahead  as  we 
breasted  the  last  wall,  six  feet,  if  an  inch,  and  a  ditch  on  the  other  side. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  gave  Blueskin  his  head — ha !  ha !  Away  he 
flew  like  a  thunderbolt — over  went  the  filly — I  over  the  same  spot, 
leaving  Kitty  in  the  ditch — walked  the  steeple,  eight  miles  in  thirty 
minutes,  and  scarcely  turned  a  hair. 

All.    Bravo  !    Bravo ! 

Lady  Gay.     Do  you  hunt  ? 

Dazzle.  Hunt !  I  belong  to  a  hunting  family.  I  was  born  on  horse  • 
back  and  cradled  in  a  kennel!  Ay,  and  I  hope  I  may  die  with  a 
whoo-whoop ! 

Max.  [To  Sir  H.]  You  must  leave  your  town  habits  in  the  smoke 
of  London  :  here  we  rise  with  the  lark. 

Sir  H.     Haven't  the  remotest  conception  when  that  period  is. 

Grace.  The  man  that  misses  sunrise  loses  the  sweetest  part  of  his 
existence. 

Sir  H.  Oh,  pardon  me  ;  I  have  seen  sunrise  frequently  after  a  ball, 
or  from  the  windows  of  my  travelling-carriage,  and  I  always  considered 
it  disagreeable. 

Grace.  I  love  to  watch  the  first  tear  that  glistens  in  the  opening 
eye  of  morning,  the  silent  song  the  flowers  breathe,  the  thrilling  choir 
of  the  woodland  minstrels,  to  which  the  modest  brook  trickles  ap- 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  545 

plause : — these  swelling  out  the  sweetest  chord  of  sweet  creation's 
matins,  seem  to  pour  some  soft  and  merry  tale  into  the  daylight's  ear, 
as  if  the  waking  world  had  dreamed  a  happy  thing,  and  now  smiled 
o'er  the  telling  of  it. 

Sir  H.  The  effect  of  a  rustic  education  !  Who  could  ever  discover 
music  in  a  damp  foggy  morning,  except  those  confounded  waits,  who 
never  play  in  tune,  and  a  miserable  wretch  who  makes  a  point  of 
crying  coffee  under  my  window  just  as  I  am  persuading  myself  to 
sleep :  in  fact,  I  never  heard  any  music  worth  listening  to,  except  in 
Italy. 

Lady  Gay.  No  ?  then  you  never  heard  a  well-trained  English  pack 
in  full  cry  ? 

Sir  H.     Full  cry  ! 

Lady  Gay.  Ay !  there  is  harmony,  if  you  will.  Give  me  the  trum- 
pet-neigh ;  the  spotted  pack  just  catching  scent.  What  a  chorus  is 
their  yelp  !  The  view-hallo,  blent  with  a  peal  of  free  and  fearless 
mirth  !  That's  our  old  English  music, — match  it  where  you  can  ! 

Sir  H.     [Aside.]     I  must  see  about  Lady  Gay  Spanker. 

Daz.    I  Aside  to  Sir  H.]     Ah,  would  you 

Lady  Gay.  Time  then  appears  as  young  as  love,  and  plumes  as 
swift  a  wing.  Away  we  go  !  The  earth  flies  back  to  aid  our  course  ! 
Horse,  man,  hound,  earth,  heaven  ! — all — all — one  piece  of  glowing 
ecstasy  !  Then  I  love  the  world,  myself,  and  every  living  thing, — my 
jocund  soul  cries  out  for  very  glee,  as  it  could  wish  that  all  creation 
had  but  one  mouth,  that  I  might  kiss  it ! 

From  "  London  Assurance." 


FAMILY   OBSTINACY. 

SHERIDAN. 
Enter  FAG. 

Fag.  Sir,  there  is  a  gentleman  below  desires  to  see  you — Shall  I 
show  him  into  the  parlor  ? 

Captain  Absolute.     Ay — you  may. 

Acres.     Well,  I  must  be  gone 

Capt.  A.     Stay;  who  is  it,  Fag? 

Fag.     Your  father,  sir. 

Capt.  A.     You  puppy,  why  didn't  you  show  him  up  directly  ? 

[Exit  FAG. 

Acres.  You  have  business  with  Sir  Anthony.  I  expect  a  message 
from  Mrs.  Malaprop  at  my  lodgings.  -I  have  sent  also  to  my  dear 
friend,  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger.  Adieu,  Jack,  we  must  meet  at  night, 
when  you  shall  give  me  a  dozen  bumpers  to  little  Lydia. 

Capt.  A.     That  I  will,  with  all  my  heart.    [Exit  ACRES.]     Now  for 
a  parental  lecture — I  hope  he  has  heard  nothing  of  the  business  that 
46*  2M 


546  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

has  brought  me  here  ;  I  wish  the  gout  had  held  him  fast  in  Devonshire, 
with  all  my  soul ! 

Enter  SIR  ANTHONY. 

Sir,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  here,  and  looking  so  well !  your  sudden 
arrival  at  Bath  made  me  apprehensive  for  your  health. 

Sir  A.  Very  apprehensive,  I  dare  say,  Jack.  What,  you  are  re- 
cruiting here,  hey  ? 

Capt.  A.     Yes,  sir,  I  am  on  duty. 

Sir  A.  Well,  Jack,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  though  I  did  not  expect 
it !  for  I  was  going  to  write  to  you  on  a  little  matter  of  business.  Jack, 
I  have  been  considering  that  I  grow  old  and  infirm,  and  shall  probably 
not  trouble  you  long. 

Capt.  A.  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  never  saw  you  look  more  strong  and 
hearty,  and  I  pray  fervently  that  you  may  continue  so. 

Sir  A.  I  hope  your  prayers  may  be  heard,  with  all  my  heart.  Well, 
then,  Jack,  I  have  been  considering  that  I  am  so  strong  and  hearty,  I 
may  continue  to  plague  you  a  long  time.  Now,  Jack,  I  am  sensible 
that  the  income  of  your,  commission,  and  what  I  have  hitherto  allowed 
you,  is  but  a  small  pittance  for  a  lad  of  your  spirit. 

Capt.  A.     Sir,  you  are  very  good. 

Sir  A.  And  it  is  my  wish,  while  yet  I  live,  to  have  my  boy  make 
some  figure  in  the  world.  I  have  resolved,  therefore,  to  fix  you  at  once 
in  a  noble  independence. 

Capt.  A.  Sir,  your  kindness  overpowers  me.  Yet,  sir,  I  presume 
you  would  not  wish  me  to  quit  the  army  ? 

Sir  A.     Oh  !  that  shall  be  as  your  wife  chooses. 

Capt.  A.     My  wife,  sir  1 

Sir  A.     Ay,  ay  ;  settle  that  between  you,  settle  that  between  you. 

Capt.  A.     A  wife,  sir,  did  you  say  ? 

Sir  A.    Ay,  a  wife :  why,  did  not  I  mention  her  before  ? 

Capt.  A.     Not  a  word  of  her,  sir. 

Sir  A.  Odd  so ;  I  mustn't  forget  her,  though.'  Yes,  Jack,  the  inde- 
pendence I  was  talking  of  is  by  a  marriage ;  the  fortune  is  saddled 
with  a  wife :  but  I  suppose  that  makes  no  difference  ? 

Capt.  A.     Sir,  sir  !  you  amaze  me  ! 

Sir  A.  Why,  what  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  the  fool  ?  just  now 
you  were  all  gratitude  and  duty. 

Capt.  A.  I  was,  sir :  you  talked  to  me  of  independence  and  a  for- 
tune, but  not  a  word  of  a  wife. 

Sir  A.  Why,  what  difference  does  that  make  ?  Odds  life,  sir !  if  you 
have  the  estate,  you  must  take  it  with  the  live  stock  on  it,  as  it  stands. 

Capt.  A.     Pray,  sir,  who  is  the  lady  ? 

Sir  A.  What's  that  to  you,  sir?  come,  give  me  your  promise  to 
love,  and  to  marry  her  directly, 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  547 

Capt.  A.  Sure,  sir,  that  is  not  very  reasonable,  to  summon  my 
affections  for  a  lady  I  know  nothing  of! 

Sir  A.  I  am  sure,  sir,  'tis  more  unreasonable  in  you  to  object  to  a 
lady  you  know  nothing  of. 

Capt.  A.  You  must  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  tell  you,  once  for  all,  that 
in  this  point  I  cannot  obey  you. 

Sir  A.  Harkye,  Jack  ; — I  have  heard  you  for  some  time  with 
patience — I  have  been  cool, — quite  cool ;  but  take  care ;  you  know  I 
am  compliance  itself,  when  I  am  not  thwarted ;  no  one  more  easily  led, 
when  I  have  my  own  way  ;  but  don't  put  me  in  a  frenzy. 

Capt.  A.     Sir,  I  must  repeat  it ;  in  this  I  cannot  obey  you. 

Sir  A.     Now,  confound  me,  if  ever  I  call  you  Jack  again  while  I  live! 

Capt.  A.     Nay,  sir,  but  hear  me. 

Sir  A.  Sir,  I  wont  hear  a  word,  not  a  word  !  not  one  word  !  so  give 
me  your  promise  by  a  nod,  and  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Jack — I  mean,  you 
dog — if  you  don't,  by 

Capt.  A.  What,  sir,  promise  to  link  myself  to  some  mass  of  ugli- 
ness ;  to 

Sir  A.  Zounds  !  sirrah  !  the  lady  shall  be  as  ugly  as  I  choose :  she 
shall  have  a  hump  on  each  shoulder ;  she  shall  be  as  crooked  as  the 
crescent ;  her  one  eye  shall  roll  like  the  bull's  in  Cox's  museum  ;  she 
shall  have  a  skin  like  a  mummy,  and  the  beard  of  a  Jew — She  shall  be 
all  this,  sirrah !  yet  I  '11  make  you  ogle  her  all  day,  and  sit  up  all 
night,  to  write  sonnets  on  her  beauty. 

Capt.  A.     This  is  reason  and  moderation,  indeed ! 

Sir  A.     None  of  your  sneering,  puppy  !  no  grinning,  jackanapes  ! 

Capt.  A.  Indeed,  sir,  I  never  was  in  a  worse  humor  for  mirth  in 
my  life. 

Sir  A.  "Tis  false,  sir ;  I  know  you  are  laughing  in  your  sleeve ;  I 
know  you'll  grin  when  I  am  gone,  sirrah ! 

Capt.  A.     Sir,  I  hope  I  know  my  duty  better. 

Sir  A.  None  of  your  passion,  sir !  none  of  your  violence,  if  you 
please;  it  won't  do  with  me,  I  promise  you. 

Capt.  A.     Indeed,  sir,  I  never  was  cooler  in  my  life. 

Sir  A.  'Tis  a  confounded  lie  !  I  know  you  are  in  a  passion  in  your 
heart ;  I  know  you  are,  you  hypocritical  young  dog ;  but  it  won't  do. 

Capt.  A.     Nay,  sir,  upon  my  word 

Sir  A.  So  you  will  fly  out !  can't  you  be  cool,  like  me  ?  what 
good  can  passion  do?  passion  is  of  no  service,  you  impudent,  inso- 
lent, overbearing  reprobate !  there,  you  sneer  again !  don't  provoke 
me !  but  you  rely  upon  the  mildness  of  my  temper,  you  do,  you  dog ! 
you  play  upon  the  meekness  of  my  disposition !  yet,  take  care ;  the 
patience  of  a  saint  may  be  overcome  at  last !  but  mark !  I  give  you  six 
hours  and  a  half  to  consider  of  this :  if  you  then  agree,  without  any 


548  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

condition,  to  do  everything  on  earth  that  I  choose,  why — confound  you  ! 
I  may  in  time  forgive  you.  If  not,  zounds !  don't  enter  the  same 
hemisphere  with  me !  don't  dare  to  breathe  the  same  air,  or  use  the 
same  light  with  me ;  but  get  an  atmosphere  and  a  sun  of  your  own : 
I'll  strip  you  of  your  commission :  I'll  lodge  a  five-and-threepence  in 
the  hands  of  trustees,  and  you  shall  live  on  the  interest.  I'll  disown 
you,  I'll  disinherit  you,  I'll  unget  you !  and  confound  rne !  if  ever  I 
call  you  Jack  again  !  [  Exit. 

Capt.  A.     Mild,  gentle,  considerate  father  !     I  kiss  your  hands. 

From  "  The  Rivals." 


SCENE   FROM    PIZARKO. 

KOTZEBUE. 

SCENE. — The  Temple  of  the  Sun. 

A  solemn  March. —  The  Warriors  and  King  enter  on  one  side  of  the 
Temple. — HOLLA,  ALONZO,  and  CORA,  on  the  other. 

Ataliba.  Welcome  Alonzo! — [To  HOLLA.]  Kinsman,  thy  hand. — 
[To  CORA.]  Blessed  be  the  object  of  the  happy  mother's  love. 

Cora.     May  the  Sun  bless  the  father  of  his  people ! 

Ata.  In  the  welfare  of  his  children  lives  the  happiness  of  their 
king.  Friends,  what  is  the  temper  of  our  soldiers  ? 

Rolla.  Such  as  becomes  the  cause  which  they  support ;  their  cry  is 
Victory  or  Death  !  our  king !  our  country  !  and  our  God  ! 

Ata.  Thou,  Rolla,  in  the  hour  of  peril,  hast  been  wont  to  animate 
the  spirit  of  their  leaders,  ere  we  proceed  to  consecrate  the  banners 
which  thy  valor  knows  so  well  to  guard. 

Rol.  Yet  never  was  the  hour  of  peril  near,  when  to  inspire  them 
words  were  so  little  needed.  My  brave  associates !  partners  of  my 
toil,  my  feelings,  and  my  fame ! — can  Holla's  words  add  vigor  to  the 
virtuous  energies  which  inspire  your  hearts?  No!  you  have  judged 
as  I  have,  the  foulness  of  the  crafty  plea  by  which  these  bold  invaders 
would  delude  you.  Your  generous  spirit  has  compared  as  mine  has, 
the  motives,  which,  in  a  war  like  this,  can  animate  their  minds,  and 
ours.  They,  by  a  strange  frenzy  driven,  fight  for  power,  for  plunder, 
and  extended  rule.  We,  for  our  country,  our  altars,  and  our  homes. 
They  follow  an  adventurer  whom  they  fear,  and  obey  a  power  which 
they  hate.  We  serve  a  monarch  whom  we  love — a  God  whom  we 
adore.  Whene'er  they  move  in  anger,  desolation  tracks  their  progress  ! 
Where'er  they  pause  in  amity,  affliction  mourns  their  friendship.  They 
boast,  they  come  but  to  improve  our  state,  enlarge  our  thoughts,  and 
free  us  from  the  yoke  of  error !  Yes — they  will  give  enlightened  free- 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  549 

dora  to  our  minds,  who  are  themselves  the  slaves  of  passion,  avarice, 
and  pride.  They  offer  us  their  protection — yes,  such  protection  as 
vultures  give  to  lambs — covering  and  devouring  them !  They  call  on 
us  to  barter  all  of  good  we  have  inherited  and  proved,  for  the  desperate 
chance  of  something  better  which  they  promise.  Be  our  own  plain 
answer  this  : — The  throne  we  honor  is  the  people's  choice — the  laws  we 
reverence  are  our  brave  fathers'  legacy — the  faith  we  follow  teaches  us 
to  live  in  bonds  of  charity  with  all  mankind,  and  die  with  hope  of  bliss 
beyond  the  grave.  Tell  your  invaders  this,  and  tell  them  too,  we  seek 
no  change ;  and,  least  of  all,  such  change  as  they  would  bring  us. 

[Loud  shouts  of  the  soldiery. 

Ata.  [Embracing  HOLLA.]  Now,  holy  friends,  ever  mindful  of  these 
sacred  truths,  begin  the  sacrifice. 

CHORUS. — Priests  and  Virgins. 

Oh  Power  supreme  !  in  mercy  smile 
With  favor  on  thy  servants'  toil ! 
Our  hearts  from  guileful  passions  free, 
Which  here  we  render  unto  thee ! 
Thou  Parent  Light !  but  deign  to  hear 

The  voices  of  our  feeble  choir ; 
And  this  our  sacrifice  of  fear, 

Consume  with  thine  own  hallowed  f  re  ! 

[Fire  from  above  lights  upon  the  Altar. 
Give  praise,  give  praise,  the  God  has  heard, 
Our  God  most  awfully  revered ! 
The  altar  his  own  flames  enwreathed, 
Then  be  the  conquering  sword  unsheathed, 
And  victory  set  on  Holla's  brow, 
His  foes  to  crush — to  overthrow ! 

Ata.  Our  offering  is  accepted.  Now  to  arms,  my  friends,  prepare 
for  battle ! 

Enter  ORANO. 

Ora.     The  enemy  ! 

Ata.     How  near  ? 

Ora.  From  the  hill's  brow,  even  now  as  I  overlooked  their  force, 
suddenly  I  perceived  the  whole  in  motion :  with  eager  haste  they  march 
towards  our  deserted  camp,  as  if  apprised  of  this  most  solemn  sacrifice. 

Rol.     They  must  be  met  before  they  reach  it. 

Ata.  And  you,  my  daughters,  with  your  dear  children,  away  to  the 
appointed  place  of  safety. 

Cora.     Oh,  Alonzo  !  [Embracing  him. 

Alonzo.    We  shall  meet  again. 


550  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Cora.     Bless  us  once  more,  ere  thou  leave  us. 

Al.  Heaven  protect  and  bless  thee,  my  beloved,  and  thee,  my  inno- 
cent! 

Ata.     Haste !  haste ! — each  moment  is  precious  ! 

Cora.     Farewell,  Alonzo  !     Remember  thy  life  is  mine. 

Rol.     Not  one  farewell  to  Holla  ? 

Cora.  [Giving  him  her  hand.]  Farewell!  the  God  of  war  be  with 
thee :  but  bring  me  back  Alonzo.  [Exit  with  the  child. 

Ata.  [Draws  his  sword.]  Now,  my  brethren,  my  sons,  my  friends, 
I  know  your  valor.  Should  ill  success  assail  us,  be  despair  the  last 
feeling  of  your  hearts.  If  successful,  let  mercy  be  the  first.  Alonzo, 
to  thee  I  give  to  defend  the  narrow  passage  of  the  mountains.  On  the 
right  of  the  wood  be.  Holla's  station.  For  me,  straight  forwards  will  I 
march  to  meet  them,  and  fight  until  I  see  my  people  saved,  or  they 
behold  their  monarch  fall.  Be  the  word  of  battle — "God!  and  our 
native  land !" 

From  "  The  German  of  Kotzebue." 


THE   COUNTRY   SQUIRE. 

CHARLES  DANCE. 
SQUIRE,  GEORGE,  HORACE. 

George.     Here  we  are,  sir ! 

Squire.  Good!  Resume  your  seats.  [They  sit,  the  SQUIRE  in  the 
middle.]  I  am  rich — I  am  seventy,  and  I  have  no  heir.  You  two 
boys  being  the  children  of  one  sister,  and  your  cousin,  Sophy  Her- 
bert, the  child  of  another  sister,  both  of  whom  have  preceded  me  to — 
in  short,  you  are  my  nearest  living  relations.  Sophy  is  a  dear  good 
girl.  She  has  been,  as  you  know,  under  my  roof  these  two  years. 
[GEORGE  sighs.]  There  is  nothing  to  sigh  about,  my  friend  ;  she  is  very 
comfortable ;  at  least,  if  not,  it  must  be  her  own  fault,  for  she  does  just 
as  she  likes. 

Horace.  Upon  my  life,  sir,  yours  must  be  a  very  pleasant  house 
to  stay  in. 

Squire.  Sir,  you  do  me  infinite  honor ;  but  I  haven't  time  to  luxu- 
riate in  your  praises  just  now.  Miss  Fanny  Markham,  and  your  cousin 
Sophy,  will  be  here  shortly ;  if,  therefore,  you  can  make  it  convenient 
to  let  me  proceed  without  interruption,  I  shall  take  it  as  a  personal 
favor.  [They  bow  assent.]  Consider  your  cousin  Sophy  provided  for. 
I  now  come  to  yourselves.  1  shall  deal  frankly  with  you.  I  have 
plenty  of  money  to  leave  you  both  ;  but  I  have  sent  for  you  here, 
because  I  want  to  fix  upon  one  of  you  to  take  my  name  when  I  die,  and 
to  do  me  the  honor  to  inherit  the  bulk  of  my  estates.  [They  look  at 
one  another  in  astonishment.]  Don't  stare,  but  listen.  You  are  both 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  551 

good,  I  dare  say,  in  your  ways  ;  but  I  want  to  discover  which  of  you  is 
the  best  man  for  ray  purpose.  I  have  now  told  you  my  object,  openly 
and  honestly,  as  a  gentleman  ought.  If  you  are  gentlemen, — and 
mind,  I  use  the  term  in  its  broadest  sense, — you  will  answer  my  ques- 
tions as  openly,  and  as  honestly.  I  have  scorned  to  deceive  you  ;  and, 
if  either  of  you  condescend  to  try  to  deceive  me,  depend  upon  it, — 
[observing  a  movement  on  their  parts,  he  continues,] — don't  be  in  a 
hurry  ;  I  was  only  going  to  say,  depend  upon  it,  I  shall  find  you  out. 
[All  rise.] 

Horace.     Sir,  we  pledge  our  honors. 

Squire.  I  require  no  pledge,  my  friends,  no  pledge.  Besides,  the 
honor  of  a  gentleman  is  a 'treasure  too  precious  to  be  lightly  parted 
with ;  it  should  be  retained  within  the  workshop  of  his  mind  to  gild 
and  beautify  each  action  of  his  life,  ere  it  passes  into  public  observa- 
tion. George ! 

George.     Sir  ? 

Squire.     You  are  the  eldest,  I  believe  ? 

George.     By  five  years,  sir. 

Squire.     You  are  a  merchant  of  the  city  of  London  ? 

George.     I  am,  sir. 

Squire.     And  you  take  pride  in  being  so  ? 

George.     I  do. 

Squire.  So  you  ought.  But  the  time  approaches  when  you  may, 
perhaps,  be  called  upon  to  exchange  that  appellation  for  another, 
equally  honorable — that  of  an  English  country  gentleman.  In  the 
hurry  of  business,  I  have  somehow  forgotten  to  get  married,  until  it's 
too  late. 

Horace.     Too  late,  sir  !    Why,  you  seem  as  hearty  as  a  man  of  fifty  ! 

Squire.  Don't  interrupt  me  ;  and,  above  all,  don't  talk  nonsense ; 
it  is  too  late,  I  say  ;  I  can't  help  being  an  old  man ;  but  I  can  help 
being  an  old  fool  !  I  am  the  last  of  my  name  in  the  county.  [/&Vs.] 
I  would  do  anything,  in  reason,  to  oblige  my  friends  and  neighbors ; 
but  I  can't  live  much  longer,  even  to  accommodate  them.  Now,  I  don't 
relish  the  notion  of  removing  from  the  family  mansion  to  the  family 
vault,  without  leaving  behind  me  some  future  Squire  upon  whom  I  may 
depend  to  carry  on  the  war  as  I  have  done.  Yes,  boys,  I  say,  as  /have 
done  ;  for  when  I  reflect  upon  my  past  life  [becomes  affected},  I  feel  that 
I  may  assert,  without  fear  of  contradiction,  that  I  have  done  some  little 
good  in  my  time,  [Rousing  himself.]  Psha !  This  is  folly  !  At  my 
time  of  life,  one  needn'Hie,  even  about  one's  self!  [Earnestly].  I  have 
done  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  I  know  it ! 

George.     Everybody  about  you  seems  to  know  it  equally  well,  sir. 

Squire.  My  dear  boy,  I  want  no  flattery  ;  I  was  talking  about  a  fact, 
and  I  only  mentioned  that  because  it  came  in  as  a  matter  of  business. 


552  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Now  answer  you  first.  Should  you  like  to  succeed  to  this  place  when 
I  die? 

George.     I  trust  that  such  an  event  is  yet  far  off,  sir. 

Squire.  Poh  !  Poh  !  Nonsense  !  I  shall  die  none  the  sooner  for 
your  talking  about  it.  Answer  my  question. 

George.     If  I  could  fill  it  as  you  do,  sir — yes. 

Squire.     Very  well.     Now,  what  is  to  hinder  you  from  doing  so  ? 

George.     My  education  and  habits. 

Squire.     Why,  you  have  had  the  education  of  a  gentleman. 

George.     True,  sir. 

Squire.     Used  to  habits  of  business,  you  must  have  a  good  head. 

George.     For  the  duties  of  a  merchant  I  hope  I  have. 

Squire.     And  a  good  heart  ? 

George.     Nay,  sir ! 

Horace.  [Unaffectedly.]  Let  me  answer  for  him  there.  A  better- 
hearted  fellow  than  George  Selwood  does  not  exist ! 

Squire.  [Rising;  sharply  to  HORACE.]  I  told  you  not  to  interrupt 
me !  [Then  shaking  his  hand.]  But  I  can  forgive  that ! — [To  GEORGE.] 
And  so,  sir,  you  seem  to  think,  upon  the  whole,  that  my  place  wouldn't 
suit  you,  as  the  servants  say  ? 

George.  My  dear  sir — I  know  little  about  horses ;  nothing  about 
dogs  or  guns ;  I  neither  ride,  drive,  shoot,  nor  hunt ;  and,  therefore, 
upon  the  whole,  honestly  I  doubt  it. 

Squire.  Then,  honestly,  I  say,  you  shall  have  a  fair  chance  of 
changing  your  opinion.  [Takes  his  hand]  George,  your  candor  does 
you  honor.  I  have  rather  slender  hopes  of  our  friend  here ;  but  I  must 
try  him,  now.  [All  rise;  turning  to  HORACE,  who  is  playing  with  his 
mustaches]  Mr.  Horace  Amelius  Selwood ! 

Horace.     Sir. 

Squire.  If  you  think  there  would  be  no  danger  of  your  head  falling 
off  your  shoulders,  perhaps  you  will  let  go  of  those  things,  and  attend 
to  me. 

Horace.     [Putting  down  his  hands]     With  pleasure  ! 

Squire.  [Imitating  him]  With  play-jaar !  What  a  queer  word  you 
make  of  it  I— [To  GEORGE.]  What  does  he  talk  so  for  ? 

George.     It's  the  fashion,  sir. 

Squire.  Fashion,  again  !  I  observe  that  everything  that  is  particu- 
larly ridiculous  is  the  fashion.— [To  HORACE.]  Well,  sir,  you  per- 
ceive the  difficulty  in  which  I  am  placed;  can  you  do  anything  to 
relieve  me  ?  » 

Horace.     Hang  me  if  I  know ! 

Squire.  I  tell  you  what,  young  gentlemen,  you  really  are  two  of  the 
queerest  fellows  I  ever  met  with  !  It  is  not  often,  I  suspect,  that  station 
and  fortune  go  begging  in  this  manner. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  553 

Horace.     Don't  mistake  me,  sir;  I  have  no  objection  to  the  money. 

Squire.     Haven't  you,  really  ? 

Horace.  0,  no  ;  none  in  life  I  In  point  of  fact,  I  rather  like  it ;  and 
I'll  tell  you  why.  I  have  rather  "  outrun  the  constable"  lately. 

Squire.     [Astonished.]     You  have  done  what,  sir? 

Horace.     Outrun  the  constable. 

Squire.  [To  GEORGE.]  What  on  earth  has  this  boy  had  a  constable 
after  him  for  ? 

George.  [Smiling.]  0,  sir,  don't  be  alarmed !  Outrunning  the 
constable  is  only  a  fashionable  phrase  for  spending  more  than  one's 
income. 

Squire.  And  the  offence,  I  fear,  is  as  fashionable  as  the  phrase. — 
[To  HORACE.]  Then,  pray,  sir,  why  don't  you  jump  at  such  a  chance 
as  this  ? 

Horace.     Because  I  haven't  the  least  idea  how  to  be  a  Squire. 

Squire.  Come,  that's  honest,  at  all  events!  Are  you  willing  to 
learn  ? 

Horace.     Is  it  much  trouble? 

Squire.     Less  than  to  be  a  noodle ! — at  least  I  should  think  so. 

Horace.     Then  I'll  try. 

Squire.  So  you  shall.  Give  me  your  hand !  And  give  me  yours, 
George.  Now  mind!  this  brother  of  yours  engages  to  become  my 
pupil ;  if  I  succeed  in  humanizing  him,  he  will  be  my  heir  ;  if  not,  you 
must !  No  answer ;  for,  by  Jupiter,  one  of  you  shall ! 

George.  Horace  will  be  the  man,  sir,  no  doubt.  He  is  younger  than 
I  am,  and  his  habits  are  less  settled. 

Squire.  Much  less,  seemingly  ! — [Aside.]  How  shall  I  begin  with 
him  ?—  [To  HORACE.]  Can  you  ride ? 

Horace.     I  flatter  myself  that's  about  the  best  thing  I  do  ! 

Squire.     Then  you  really  are  not  afraid  of  a  horse  ? 

Horace.     I'm  afraid  of  nothing ! 

Squire.  [Aside.]  How  one  may  be  deceived  by  appearances! — 
[ Aloud.]  Can  you  drive  ? 

Horace.  Gig,  curricle,  tandem,  unicorn,  or  four.  I  have  driven  the 
coach  from  London  to  Brighton  about  two  hundred  times. 

Squire.  I'm  glad  you  can  drive  ;  but  I  beg  to  inform  you  that  who- 
ever becomes  my  heir  will  be  able  to  make  a  decent  livelihood  without 
turning  stage  coachman  ! 

George.     It  isn't  for  that,  sir — it's  the  fashion. 

Squire.  [^GEORGE.]  0! — [To  HORACE.]  Pray,  sir,  is  it  the  fashion 
for  gentlemen  to  turn  servants  of  all  denominations?  Because,  although 
our  roads  here  are  well  supplied  with  coachmen  at  present,  I  have  a 
vacancy  for  a  footman,  if  that  would  suit  you  ! 

Horace.     That  would  be  degrading. 
47 


554  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Squire.  0 !  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't  perceive  the  distinction. 
Can  you  shoot? 

Horace.  I  can  kill  eleven  birds  out  of  twelve,  at  thirty  yards ;  for 
further  particulars  inquire  at  the  Red  House,  Battersea. 

Squire.     Is  that  true  ? 

Horace.     I  never  tell  a  lie  ;  it's  ungentlemanly. 

Squire.  [Aside.]  He's  a  strange  animal ;  but  there  is  good  about 
the  fellow  ! — [^4Zowd.]  Now,  sir,  one  thing  more,  and  I  have  done  with 
you  for  the  present.  You  are  short  of  cash,  I  understand. 

Horace.     Excruciatingly ! 

Squire.  I  want  to  make  a  purchase  of  you.  If  I  give  you  fifty 
pounds,  may  I  take  my  choice  of  any  article  you  have  got  about  you  ? 

Horace.     Most  willingly  ! 

Squire.  Enough!  [Taking  out  pocket  book.]  George  !  I  lodge  the 
money  with  you  ;  when  the  goods  are  delivered,  pay  the  vender. 

George.     But  what  is  the  purchase,  sir  ? 

Horace.     Ay,  what  is  the  purchase  ? 

Squire.  The  growing  crop  of  hair  upon  your  face ;  with  liberty  to 
mow,  whenever  I  please.  [GEORGE  laughs — HORACE  looks  astonished.] 

Horace.     My  whiskers  and  mustaches  ! 

Squire.  Even  so!  Come,  a  bargain  is  a  bargain;  away  to  your 
room.  Shave  them  off  clean  !  And  don't  let  me  see  your  face  again 
until,  until — in  short — I  can  see  it.  [  Goes  up  to  table  and  rings  bell ; 
HORACE  is  going.] 

George.     Horace ! 

Horace.     [Turning.]     What? 

George.     [Laughs  and  imitates  shaving.]     I  say 

Horace.     Now  be  quiet!     [Going.] 

George.     Horace ! 

Horace.     [Peevishly,  turning  again.]     Well !     What  do  you  want  ? 

George.     Look  here,  old  man  !     [Holding  up  note.] 

Horace.  Well — to  be  sure — a  fifty  is  two  ponies ;  and  the  hair  will 
grow  again !  [Exit. 

From  "  The  Country  Squire." 


THE  SERENADE. 

LONGFELLOW. 

A  Street  in  Madrid.    Enter  CHISPA,  followed  by  musicians,  with  a  bag- 
pipe, guitars,  and  other  instruments. 

Chispa.  Abernuncio  Satanas!  and  a  plague  on  all  lovers  who  ramble 
about  at  night,  drinking  the  elements,  instead  of  sleeping  quietly  in 
,their  beds.  Every  dead  man  to  his  cemetery,  say  I ;  and  every  friar 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  555 

to  his  monastery.  Now,  here's  my  master,  Victorian,  yesterday  a  cow- 
keeper,  and  to-day  a  gentleman ;  yesterday  a  student,  and  to-day  a 
lover ;  and  I  must  be  up  later  than  the  nightingale,  for  as  the  abbot 
sings  so  must  the  sacristan  respond.  God  grant  he  may  soon  be  mar- 
ried, for  then  shall  all  this  serenading  cease.  [To  the  musicians.] 
And  now,  gentlemen,  Pax  vobiscum !  as  the  ass  said  to  the  cabbages. 
Pray,  walk  this  way ;  and  don't  hang  down  your  heads.  It  is  no  dis- 
grace to  have  an  old  father  and  a  ragged  shirt.  Now,  look  you,  Jrou 
are  gentlemen  who  lead  the  life  of  crickets ;  you  enjoy  hunger  by  day 
and  noise  by  night.  Yet,  I  beseech  you,  for  this  once  be  not  loud,  but 
pathetic ;  for  it  is  a  serenade  to  a  damsel  in  bed,  and  not  to  the  Man  in 
the  Moon.  Your  object  is  not  to  arouse  and  terrify,  but  to  soothe  and 
bring  lulling  dreams.  Therefore,  each  shall  not  play  upon  his  instru- 
ment as  if  it  were  the  only  one  in  the  universe,  but  gently,  and  with  a 
certain  modesty,  according  with  the  others.  Pray,  how  may  I  call  thy 
name,  friend? 

1st  Musician.    Geronimo  Gil,  at  your  service. 

Chispa.  Every  tub  smells  of  the  wine  that  is  in  it.  Pray,  Geronimo, 
is  not  Saturday  an  unpleasant  day  with  thee  ? 

1st  Mus.    Why  so  ? 

Chispa.  Because  I  have  heard  it  said  that  Saturday  is  an  unpleasant 
day  with  those  who  have  but  one  shirt.  Moreover,  I  have  seen  thee  at 
the  tavern,  and  if  thou  canst  run  as  fast  as  thou  canst  drink,  I  should 
like  to  hunt  hares  with  thee.  What  instrument  is  that? 

1st  Mus.    An  Aragonese  bagpipe. 

Chispa.  Pray,  art  thou  related  to  the  bagpiper  of  Bujalance,  who 
asked  a  maravedi  for  playing,  and  ten  for  leaving  off? 

1st  Mus.    No,  your  honor. 

Chispa.    I  am  glad  of  it.     What  other  instruments  have  we  ? 

2d  and  3d  Mus.    We  play  the  bandurria. 

Chispa.    A  pleasing  instrument.     And  thou  ? 

4th  Mus.    The  fife. 

Chispa.  I  like  it ;  it  has  a  cheerful,  soul-stirring  sound,  that  soars 
up  to  my  lady's  window  like  the  song  of  a  swallow.  And  you  others  ? 

Other  Mus.    We  are  the  singers,  please  your  honor. 

Chispa.  You  are  too  many.  Do  you  think  we  are  going  to  sing 
mass  in  the  cathedral  of  Cordova  ?  Four  men  can  make  but  little  use 
of  one  shoe,  and  I  see  not  how  you  can  all  sing  in  one  song.  But 
follow  me  along  the  garden  wall.  That  is  the  way  my  master  climbs 
to  the  lady's  window.  It  is  by  the  Vicar's  skirts  that  the  devil  climbs 
into  the  belfry.  Come,  follow  me,  and  make  no  noise.  [Exeunt. 

Preciosa  (at  an  open  window).    How  slowly  through  the  lilac- 
scented  air 
Descends  the  tranquil  moon  !     Like  thistle-down 


556          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

The  vapory  clouds  float  in  the  peaceful  sky ; 
And  sweetly  from  yon  hollow  vaults  of  shade 
The  nightingales  breathe  out  their  souls  in  song. 
And  hark !  what  songs  of  love,  what  soul-like  sounds, 
Answer  them  from  below ! 

SERENADE. 
Stars  of  the  summer  night ! 

Far  in  yon  azure  deeps, 
Hide,  hide  your  golden  light ! 

She  sleeps ! 
My  lady  sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Moon  of  the  summer  night ! 

Far  down  yon  western  steeps, 
Sink,  sink  in  silver  light ! 

She  sleeps  1 
My  lady  sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Wind  of  the  summer  night  1 

Where  yonder  woodbine  creeps, 

Fold,  fold  thy  pinions  light ! 
She  sleeps ! 

My  lady  sleeps ! 
Sleeps  ! 

Dreams  of  the  summer  night ! 

Tell  her,  her  lover  keeps 
Watch  !  while  in  slumbers  light 

She  sleeps ! 
My  lady  sleeps ! 

Sleeps  I 


THE   MURDER   OF   CLYTUS. 

NATHAKTCEI  Jj 

Alexander.     Thy  hand,  Hephestion  :  clap  him  to  thy  heart, 
And  wear  him  ever  near  thee.     Parisatis 
Shall  now  be  his  who  serves  me  best  in  war. 
Neither  reply,  but  mark  the  charge  I  give ; 
Live,  live  as  friends — you  will,  you  must,  you  shall : 
;Tis  a  god  gives  you  life. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  557 

Clytus.     Oh,  monstrous  vanity  ! 

Alex.     Ha !  what  says  Clytus  ?  who  am  I  ? 

Clyt.     The  son  of  good  king  Philip. 

Alex.     By  my  kindred  gods 
;Tis  false.     Great  Ammon  gave  me  birth. 

Clyt.     I've  done. 

Alex.     Clytus,  what  means  that  dress  ?    Give  him  a  robe,  there. 
Take  it  and  wear  it. 

Clyt.     Sir,  the  wine,  the  weather, 
Has  heated  me :  besides,  you  know  my  humor. 

Alex.     Oh,  'tis  not  well !     I'd  rather  perish,  burn, 
Than  be  so  singular  and  froward. 

•   Clyt.     So  would  I 

Burn,  hang,  drown,  but  in  a  better  cause. 
I'll  drink  or  fight  for  sacred  majesty 
With  any  here.     Fill  me  another  bowl. 
Will  you  excuse  me  ? 

Alex.     You  will  be  excused : 
But  let  him  have  his  humor ;  he  is  old. 

Clyt.     So  was  your  father,  sir ;  this  to  his  memory : 
Sound  all  the  trumpets  there. 

Alex.     They  shall  not  sound 
Till  the  king  drinks.     Sure  I  was  born  to  wage 
Eternal  war.     All  are  my  enemies, 
Whom  I  could  tame — But  let  the  sports  go  on. 

Lysimachus.     Nay,  Clytus,  you  that  could  advise  so  well — 

Alex.     Let  him  persist,  be  positive,  and  proud, 
Envious  and  sullen,  'mongst  the  nobler  souls. 
Like  an  infernal  spirit  that  hath  stole 
From  hell,  and  mingled  with  the  mirth  of  gods. 

Clyt.     When  gods  grow  hot,  no  difference  I  know 
'Twixt  them  and  devils — Fill  me  Greek  wine — yet — 
Yet  fuller — I  want  spirits. 

Alex.     Let  me  have  music. 

Clyt.     Music  for  boys — Clytus  would  hear  the  groans 
Of  dying  soldiers,  and  the  neigh  of  steeds ; 
Or,  if  I  must  be  pestered  with  shrill  sounds, 
Give  me  the  cries  of  matrons  in  sacked  towns. 

Hephestion.     Let  us,  Lysimachus,  awake  the  king ; 
A  heavy  gloom  is  gathering  on  his  brow. 
Kneel  all,  with  humblest  adoration,  kneel, 
And  let  a  health  to  Jove's  great  son  go  round. 

Alex.     Sound,  sound,  that  all  the  universe  may  hear. 

[A  loud  flourish  of  Trumpets. 
47* 


55S          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Oh,  for  the  voice  of  Jove  !  the  world  should  know 
The  kindness  of  my  people — Rise!  oh  rise! 
My  hands,  my  arms,  my  heart,  are  ever  yours. 

Clyt.    I  did  not  kiss  the  earth,  nor  must  your  hand— 
I  am  unworthy,  sir. 

Alex.     I  know  thou  art : 
Thou  enviest  the  great  honor  of  thy  master. 
Sit  all,  my  friends.     Now  let  us  talk  of  war, 
Che  noblest  subject  for  a  soldier's  mouth, 
And  speak,  speak  freely,  else  you  love  me  not. 
Who,  think  you,  was  the  greatest  general 
That  ever  led  an  army  to  the  field  ? 

Eepli.     A  chief  so  great,  so  fortunately  brave, 
And  justly  so  renowned  as  Alexander, 
The  radiant  sun,  since  first  his  beams  gave  light, 
Never  yet  saw. 

Lys.     Such  was  not  Cyrus,  or  the  famed  Alcides, 
Nor  great  Achilles,  whose  tempestuous  sword 
Laid  Troy  in  Ashes,  though  the  warring  gods 
Opposed  him. 

Alex.     Oh,  you  natter  me  ! 

Clyt.     They  do,  indeed,  and  yet  you  love  them  for't, 
But  hate  old  Clytus  for  his  hardy  virtue. 
Come,  shall  I  speak  a  man  with  equal  bravery, 
A  better  general,  and  experter  soldier  ? 

Alex.     I  should  be  glad  to  learn  :  instruct  me,  sir. 

Clyt.     Your  father,  Philip — I  have  seen  him  march, 
And  fought  beneath  his  dreadful  banner,  where 
The  boldest  at  this  table  would  have  trembled. 
Nay,  frown  not,  sir,  you  cannot  look  me  dead. 
When  Greeks  joined  Greeks,  then  was  the  tug  of  war  I 
The  laboured  battle  sweat,  and  conquest  bled. 
Why  should  I  fear  to  speak  a  bolder  truth 
Than  e'er  the  lying  priests  of  Ammon  told  you  ? 
Philip  fought  men — but  Alexander  women. 

Alex.     All  envy,  spite  and  envy,  by  the  gods  I 
Is  then  my  glory  come  to  this  at  last, 
To  conquer  women !     Nay,  he  said  the  stoutest, 
The  stoutest  here,  would  tremble  at  his  dangers. 
In  all  the  sickness,  all  the  wounds,  I  bore, 
When  from  my  reins  the  javelin's  head  was  cut, 
Lysimachus,  Hephestion,  speak,  Perdiccas, 
Did  I  once  tremble  ?     Oh,  the  cursed  falsehood ! 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  559 

Did  I  once  shake  or  groan,  or  act  beneath 
The  dauntless  resolution  of  a  king  ? 

Lys.     Wine  has  transported  him. 

Alex.     No,  'tis  mere  malice. 
I  was  a  woman  too,  at  Oxydrace, 
When,  planting  on  the  walls  a  scaling  ladder, 
I  mounted,  spite  of  showers  of  stones,  bars,  arrows, 
And  all  the  lumber  which  they  thundered  down. 
When  you  beneath  cried  out,  and  spread  your  arms, 
That  I  should  leap  among  you — did  I  so  ? 

Lys.     Dread  sir  !  the  old  man  knows  not  what  he  says. 

Alex.     Was  I  a  woman,  when,  like  Mercury, 
I  leaped  the  walls  and  flew  amidst  the  foe, 
And,  like  a  baited  lion,  dyed  myself 
All  over  in  the  blood  of  those  bold  hunters ; 
Till  spent  with  toil  I  battled  on  my  knees, 
Plucked  forth  the  darts  that  made  my  shield  a  forest, 
And  hurled  'em  back  with  most  unconquered  fury, 
Then  shining  in  my  arms  I  sunned  the  field, 
Moved,  spoke,  and  fought,  and  was  myself  a  war. 

Clyt.    'Twas  all  bravado  :  for,  before  you  leaped, 
You  saw  that  I  had  burst  the  gates  asunder. 

Alex.     Oh,  that  thou  wert  but  once  more  young  and  vigorous  I 
That  I  might  strike  thee  prostrate  to  the  earth, 
For  this  audacious  lie,  thou  feebled  dotard ! 

Clyt.     I  know  the  reason  why  you  use  me  thus : 
I  saved  you  from  the  sword  of  bold  Rhesaces, 
Else  had  your  godship  slumbered  in  the  dust, 
And  most  ungratefully  you  hate  me  for  it. 

Alex.     Hence  from  the  banquet :  thus  far  I  forgive  thee. 

Clyt.     First  try  (for  none  can  want  forgiveness  more) 
To  have  your  own  bold  blasphemies  forgiven, 
The  shameful  riots  of  a  vicious  life, 
Philotas'  murder 

Alex.     Ha !  what  said  the  traitor  ? 

Heph.     Clytus,  withdraw ;  Eumenes,  force  him  hence : 
He  must  not  tarry :  drag  him  to  the  door. 

Clyt.     No,  let  him  send  me,  if  I  must  be  gone, 
To  Philip,  Atalaus,  Calisthenes, 
To  great  Parmenio,  and  his  slaughtered  sons. 

Alex.    Give  me  a  javelin. 

Heph.     Hold,  mighty  sir! 

Alex.     Sirrah!  off, 
Lest  I  at  once  strike  through  his  heart  and  thine. 


560  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Lys.    Oh,  sacred  sir  !  have  but  a  moment's  patience. 

Alex.    What !  hold  my  arms !     I  shall  be  murdered  here, 
Like  poor  Darius,  by  my  barbarous  subjects. 
Perdiccas,  sound  our  trumpets  to  the  camp ; 
Call  all  my  soldiers  to  the  court :  nay,  haste, 
For  there  is  treason  plotting  'gainst  my  life, 
And  I  shall  perish  ere  they  come  to  save  me. 
Where  is  the  traitor  ? 

Clyt.     Sure  there  is  none  amongst  us, 
But  here  I  stand — honest  Clytus, 
Whom  the  king  invited  to  the  banquet. 

Alex.     Begone  to  Philip,  Atalaus,  Calisthenes —         [Stabs  lilm. 
And  let  bold  subjects  learn,  by  thy  example, 
Not  to  provoke  the  patience  of  their  prince. 

Clyt.     The  rage  of  wine  is  drowned  in  gushing  blood. 
Oh,  Alexander  !  I  have  been  to  blame : 
Hate  me  not  after  death ;  for  I  repent 
That  I  so  far  have  urged 'your  noble  nature. 

Alex.     What's  this  I  hear  ?  say  on,  my  dying  soldier. 

Clyt.     I  should  have  killed  myself  had  I  but  lived 
To  be  once  sober — Now  I  fall  with  honor ; 
My  own  hands  would  have  brought  foul  death.    Oh,  pardon  !    [Dies. 

Alex.     Then  I  am  lost :  what  has  my  vengeance  done  ! 
Who  is  it  thou  hast  slain  ?     Clytus !  what  was  he  ? 
The  faithfullest  subject,  worthiest  counsellor, 
The  bravest  soldier,  he  who  saved  thy  life, 
Fighting  bareheaded  at  the  river  Granick, 
And  now  he  has  a  noble  recompense  ; 
For  a  rash  word,  spoke  in  the  heat  of  wine, 
The  poor,  the  honest  Clytus  thou  hast  slain, 
Clytus,  thy  friend,  thy  guardian,  thy  preserver ! 

From  "  Alexander  the  Great." 


CAUDLE  AND   MKS.  CAUDLE. 

E.  STIRLING. 

Mrs.  Caudle.     Caudle  dear,  you  remember  how  happy  dear  mother 
was,  when  she  supped  here  last  ? 
Caudle.    No. 

Mrs.  Caudle.  No !  How  can  you  say  that  ?  You  must  have  seen  it. 
She's  always  happier  here  than  anywhere  else.  Ah,  what  a  temper 
the  dear  soul  has.  I  call  it  a  temper  of  satin — it's  so  smooth,  so  easy, 
and  so  soft.  Nothing  puts  her  out. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  561 

Can.    [Aside.]     I  wish  it  would — of  the  world. 

Mrs.  C.  She  loves  you  so — more  than  her  own  son,  ten  times  over. 
Don't  you  think  so  ?  Do  answer. 

Can.     How  can  I  tell  ? 

Mrs.  C.  Nonsense !  you  must  have  seen  it.  Think  of  the  stewed 
oysters  on  Thursday  night — that  was  all  dear  mother's  doings.  "  Mar- 
garet," says  she  to  me,  "  it's  a  cold  night — and  don't  you  think  dear 
Mr.  Caudle  would  like  something  nice  before  he  goes  to  bed?"  [CAUDLE 
snores.]  Do  listen  to  me  for  five  minutes.  'Tisn't  often  I  speak,  heaven 
knows.  Then  what  a  fuss  she  makes  when  you're  out,  if  your  slippers 
ain't  put  to  the  fire  for  you. 

Can.     She's  very  good  ! 

Mrs.  C.  I  know  she  is.  For  six  months  she's  been  working  a  watch- 
pocket  for  you — with  her  eyes,  dear  soul,  and  at  her  time  of  life !  And 
what  a  cook  she  is  !  The  dishes  she'll  make  out  of  nothing.  I  try  hard 
to  follow  her. 

Can.    [Melancholy.]     I  know  it ! 

Mrs.  C.  But  she  quite  beats  me.  Ah,  the  many  nice  little  things 

she'd  simmer  up  for  you.  I've  been  thinking [He  coughs.]  Ah, 

that  nasty  cough,  love.  I've  been  thinking — if  we  would  persuade  dear 
mother  to  come  and  live  with  us 

Can.     [Pulls  his  nightcap  over  his  eyes.]     Have  you  ? 

Mrs.  C.    What  a  treasure  we  would  have  in  her. 

Cau.    I  don't  want  one. 

Mrs.  C.  You  do.  The  money  she'd  save  us  in  house-keeping 

Ah,  what  an  eye  she  has  for  a  joint ! 

Cau.    And  a  tooth  ! 

Mrs.  C.  The  butcher  doesn't  walk  that  could  deceive  poor  mother. 
Then,  again,  for  poultry — what  a  finger  and  thumb  she  has  for  a 
chicken  !  What  a  hand,  too,  for  marrow-puddings  and  pie  crust 

Cau.     Confound  pie  crust ! 

Mrs.  C.  Don't  rail  at  her  crust,  dear.  It's  a  gift — quite  a  gift, 
and  born  with  her. 

Cau.     Why  wasn't  it  born  with  you? 

Mrs.  C.  That's  cruel.  People  can't  be  born  as  they  like.  Dear 
mother's  jams  and  preserves  are  beautiful — she'd  make  it  summer  all 
the  year  round.  Her  beer,  too — oh,  her  beer !  And  what  nice  dogs  in 
a  blanket  for  the  children. 

Cau.    What's  dogs  in  blankets  ? 

Mrs.  C.  They're  delicious,  as  dear  mother  makes  'em.  [He  groans.] 
Now  you  have  tasted  her  Irish  stew,  Caudle.  Come,  you're  not  asleep. 
If  she  was  here,  you  might  have  a  stew  when  you  liked.  What  a 
relief  that  would  be  to  me.  She  would  make  us  so  happy — no  tiffs, 
then.  I  can't  bear  to  quarrel — i-an,  I  love  ?  The  children  are  so  fond 

2N 


562  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

of  her,  too — and  such  a  nurse — I  shouldn't  care  a  fig  for  the  measles. 
She  could  sit  up  for  you,  too — so  I  think  she'd  better  come,  eh,  Caudle, 
darling  ?  Don't  you  think  she'd  better  come  ? 

Cau.     No.     I  don't ! 

Mrs.  C.     [Loud.]     You  don't  ? 

Cau.     I  don't.     I  won't  have  her  !  ^ 

Mrs.  C.     You  won't  have  her  ? 

Cau.     No— that's  flat ! 

Mrs.  C.     No!     [Noise  of  carriage  and  knocking.] 

Cau.     No,  no,  no,  ma'am  ! 

Mrs.  C.  [Screaming  and  sobbing — at  the  same  time  ringing  a  bell.] 
Caudle — Caudle — she  shall  come  !  she's  coming — she's  come !  I've  sent 
for  her. 

Cau.     She  shan't — she  shan't  stay.     If  she  does,  I'm 

[MRS.  CAUDLE'S  DEAR  MOTHER  enters,  loaded  with  boxes,  bundles,  &c.,  in 
bonnet  and  shawl — her  face  very  red. 

Mrs.  Caudle's  Mother.  Peggy,  my  pet — Job,  my  comfort,  I'm  come 
at  last.  [Embraces  CAUDLE  violently — Tie  runs  behind  a  large  chair. 

Mrs.  C.    [Sobbing.]    Oh,  mother — mother,  dear! 

Mrs.  Caudle's  Mother.  My  lamb !  [Runs  to  her.]  What's  all  this 
noration  about? 

Mrs.  C.    Ask  Cau— Cau— Caudle  ! 

Cau.    Ask  "  Punch." 

Mrs.  C.  No  sir,  my  dear  mother  shan't  make  a  Judy  of  herself  to 
please  you.  I'll  punish  you — the  whole  world  shall  hear  of  my  wrongs; 
and  if  I  live  for  fifty  years  every  night  I'll  lecture  you. 

Mrs.  Caudle's  Mother.  Do — do,  my  darling,  and  I'll  help.  I've  come 
to  stop. 

Cau.  Stop — the  deuce !  [Rushes  out  of  window — a  loud  glass  crash 
heard,  and  noisy  voices  in  the  street — MRS.  CAUDLE'S  MOTHER  rushes  to 
window  and  faints  in  the  balcony — MRS.  CAUDLE  starts  upright  on  the 
floor,  screaming — at  the  same  time  noise  O/CHILDREN  at  the  doors,  calling 
for  "  MA"  and  "  PA." 

From  "  Mrs.  Caudlf's  Curtain  Lectures." 


THE   QUARKEL   ADJUSTED. 

SHERIDAN. 
Enter  CAPTAIN  ABSOLUTE. 

Captain  Absolute.  'Tis  just  as  Fag  told  me,  indeed ! — Whimsical 
enough,  'faith !  My  father  wants  to  force  me  to  marry  the  very  girl 
I  am  plotting  to  run  away  with !  He  must  not  know  of  my  connec- 
tion with  her  yet  awhile.  He  has  too  summary  a  method  of  proceeding 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  563 

in  these  matters  ;  however,  I'll  read  ray  recantation  instantly.     My 
conversion  is  something  sudden,  indeed;  but,  I  can  assure  him,  it  is 
very  sincere — So,  so,  here  he  comes — he  looks  plaguy  gruff! 
Enter  SIR  ANTHONY  ABSOLUTE. 

Sir  Anthony.  No — I'll  die  sooner  than  forgive  him  !  Die,  did  I  say  ? 
I'll  live  these  fifty  years  to  plague  him.  At  our  last  meeting,  his  impu- 
dence had  almost  put  me  out  of  temper — An  obstinate,  passionate, 
self-willed  boy  !  Who  can  he  take  after  ?  This  is  my  return  for  getting 
him  before  all  his  brothers  and  sisters!  for  putting  him,  at  twelve 
years  old,  into  a  marching  regiment,  and  allowing  him  fifty  pounds  a 
year,  besides  his  pay,  ever  since !  •  But  I  have  done  with  him — he 's 
anybody's  son  for  me — I  never  will  see  him  more — never — never — 
never — never. 

Capt.  A.     Now  for  a  penitential  face  I  [Aside. 

Sir  A.     Fellow,  get  out  of  my  way  ! 

Capt.  A.     Sir,  you  see  a  penitent  before  you. 

Sir  A.     I  see  an  impudent  scoundrel  before  me. 

Capt.  A.  A  sincere  penitent.  I  am  come,  sir,  to  acknowledge  my 
error,  and  to  submit  entirely  to  your  will. 

Sir  A.     What's  that? 

Capt.  A.  I  have  been  revolving,  and  reflecting,  and  considering  on 
your  past  goodness,  and  kindness,  and  condescension  to  me. 

Sir  A.     Well,  sir  ? 

Capt.  A.  *I  have  been  likewise  weighing  and  balancing,  what  you 
were  pleased  to  mention  concerning  duty,  and  obedience,  and  authority. 

Sir  A.     Well,  puppy  ? 

Capt.  A.  Why,  then,  sir,  the  result  of  my  reflections  is,  a  resolution 
to  sacrifice  every  inclination  of  my  own  to  your  satisfaction. 

Sir  A.  Why,  now  you  talk  sense,  absolute  sense ;  I  never  heard 
anything  more  sensible  in  my  life.  Confound  you  !  you  shall  be  Jack 
again. 

Capt.  A.     I  am  happy  in  the  appellation. 

Sir  A.  Why  then,  Jack,  my  dear  Jack,  I  will  now  inform  you  who 
the  lady  really  is.  Nothing  but  your  passion  and  violence,  you  silly 
fellow,  prevented  me  telling  you  at  first.  Prepare,  Jack,  for  wonder 
and  rapture — prepare !  What  think  you  of  Miss  Lydia  Languish  ? 

Capt.  A.     Languish  !     What,  the  Languishes  of  Worcestershire  ? 

Sir  A.  Worcestershire !  no.  Did  you  never  meet  Mrs.  Malaprop, 
and  her  niece,  Miss  Languish,  who  came  into  our  country  just  before 
you  were  last  ordered  to  your  regiment  ? 

Capt.  A.  Malaprop !  Languish !  I  don't  remember  ever  to  have 
heard  the  names  before.  Yet,  stay,  I  think  I  <'o  recollect  something — • 
Languish — Languish — She  squints,  don't  she? — A  little  red-haired 
girl? 


564          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Sir  A.     Squints !— A  red-haired  girl !     Zounds,  no  ! 

Capt.  A.     Then  I  must  have  forgot ;  it  can't  be  the  same  person. 

Sir  A.  Jack,  Jack !  what  think  you  of  blooming,  love-breathing 
seventeen  ? 

Capt.  A.  As  to  that,  sir,  I  am  quite  indifferent;  if  I  can  please  you 
in  the  matter,  'tis  all  I  desire. 

Sir  A.  Nay,  but  Jack,  such  eyes !  such  eyes,  so  innocently  wild,  so 
bashfully  irresolute,  not  a  glance  but  speaks  and  kindles  some  thought 
of  love !  Then,  Jack,  her  cheeks  I  her  cheeks,  Jack !  so  deeply  blush- 
ing at  the  insinuations  of  her  tell-tale  eyes  !  Then,  Jack,  her  lips  !  0, 
Jack,  lips,  smiling  at  their  own  discretion  !  and,  if  not  smiling,  more 
sweetly  pouting — more  lovely  in  sullenness !  Then,  Jack,  her  neck  ! 
0,  Jack,  Jack ! 

Capt.  A.     And  which  is  to  be  mine,  sir,  the  niece  or  the  aunt? 

Sir  A.  Why,  you  unfeeling,  insensible  puppy,  I  despise  you.  When 
I  was  of  your  age,  such  a  description  would  have  made  me  fly  like  a 
rocket.  The  aunt,  indeed !  Odds  life !  when  I  ran  away  with  your 
mother,  I  would  not  have  touched  anything  old  or  ugly,  to  gain  an 
empire. 

Capt.  A.     Not  to  please  your  father,  sir? 

Sir  A.  To  please  my  father — Zounds  !  not  to  please — 0,  my  father 
— Oddso  ! — Yes,  yes;  if  my  father,  indeed,  had  desired — that's  quite 

another  matter Though  he  wasn't  the  indulgent  father  that  I  am, 

Jack. 

Capt.  A.     I  dare  say  not,  sir. 

Sir  A.  But,  Jack,  you  are  not  sorry  to  find  your  mistress  is  so 
beautiful ! 

Capt.  A.  Sir,  I  repeat  it,  if  I  please  you  in  this  affair,  'tis  all  I 
desire.  Not  that  I  think  a  woman  the  worse  for  being  handsome ;  but, 
sir,  if  you  please  to  recollect,  you  before  hinted  something  about  a 
hump  or  two,  one  eye,  and  a  few  more  graces  of  that  kind — now,  with- 
out being  very  nice,  I  own  I  should  rather  choose  a  wife  of  mine  to 
have  the  usual  number  of  limbs,  and  a  limited  quantity  of  back :  and, 
though  one  eye  may  be  very  agreeable,  yet,  as  the  prejudice  has 
always  run  in  favor  of  two,  I  would  not  wish  to  affect  a  singularity  in 
that  article. 

Sir  A.  What  a  phlegmatic  sot  it  is !  Why,  sirrah,  you  are  an 
anchorite !  A  vile,  insensible  stock !  You  a  soldier !  yoif  re  a  walking 
block,  fit  only  to  dust  the  company's  regimentals  on  !  Odds  life,  I've 
a  great  mind  to  marry  the  girl  myself! 

Capt.  A.  I  am  entirely  at  your  disposal,  sir ;  if  you  should-  think 
of  addressing  Miss  Languish  yourself,  I  suppose  you  would  have  me 
marry  the  aunt ;  or,  if  you  should  change  your  mind,  and  take  the  old 
lady, — 'tis  the  same  to  me,  I'll  marry  the  niece. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  565 

Sir  A.  Upon  my  word,  Jack,  thou'rt  either  a  very  great  hypocrite,  or 
— but,  come,  I  know  your  indifference  on  such  a  subject  must  be  all  a  lie. 
I'm  sure  it  must — come,  now,  hang  your  demure  face,  come,  confess, 
Jack,  you  have  been  lying — ha'n't  you  ?  You  have  been  playing  the 
hypocrite,  hey  ? — I'll  never  forgive  you,  if  you  ha'n't  been  lying  and 
playing  the  hypocrite.  m 

Capt.  A.  I'm  sorry,  sir,  that  the  respect  and  duty  which  I  bear  to 
you  should  be  so  mistaken. 

Sir  A.  Hang  your  respect  and  duty  !  But  come  along  with  me,  I'll 
write  a  note  to  Mrs.  Malaprop,  and  you  shall  visit  the  lady  directly. 
Her  eyes  shall  be  the  Promethean  torch  to  you — come  along,  I'll  never 
forgive  you,  if  you  don't  come  back,  stark  mad  with  rapture  and  im- 
patience— if  you  don't,  'egad  I'll  marry  the  girl  myself. 

From  "  The  Rivals." 


THE   DEATH   OF   CARDINAL   BEAUFORT. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

SCENE. — London. —  Cardinal  Beaufort's  bed-chamber. 

Enter  KING  HENRY,  SALISBURY,  WARWICK,  and  others. 

The  CARDINAL  in  bed;  Attendants  with  him. 

K.  Henry.    How  fares  my  lord?  speak,  Beaufort,  to  thy  sovereign. 

Cardinal.    If  thou  be'st  death,  I'll  give  thee  England's  treasure, 
Enough  to  purchase  such  another  island, 
So  thou  wilt  let  me  live,  and  feel  no  pain. 

K.  Hen.    Ah,  what  a  sign  it  is  of  evil  life, 
When  death's  approach  is  seen  so  terrible ! 

Warwick.    Beaufort,  it  is  thy  sovereign  speaks  to  thee. 

Car.    Bring  me  unto  my  trial,  when  you  will. 
Died  he  not  in  his  bedj  where  should  he  die  ? 
Can  I  make  men  live,  whe'r  they  will  or  no? — 
0 !  torture  me  no  more,  I  will  confess. — 
Alive  again  ?  then  show  me  where  he  is  ; 
I'll  give  a  thousand  pound  to  look  upon  him. — 
He  hath  no  eyes,  the  dust  hath  blinded  them. — 
Comb  down  his  hair  ;  look !  look !  it  stands  upright, 
Like  lime-twigs  set  to  catch  my  winged  soul ! — 
Give  me  some  drink ;  and  bid  the  apothecary 
Bring  the  strong  poison  that  I  bought  of  him. 

K.  Hen.    0  thou  eternal  Mover  of  the  heavens, 
Look  with  a  gentle  eye  upon  this  wretch ! 
0,  beat  away  the  busy  meddling  fiend, 
That  lays  strong  siege  unto  this  wretch's  soul, 
And  from  his  bosom  purge  this  black  despair  ! 
48 


566  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

War.    See  how  the  pangs  of  death  do  make  him  grin. 

Salisbury.    Disturb  him  not,  let  him  pass  peaceably. 

K.  Hen.    Peace  to  his  soul,  if  God's  good  pleasure  be 
.Lord  cardinal,  if  thou  think'st  on  heaven's  bliss, 
Hold  up  thy  hand,  make  signal  of  thy  hope. — 
He  dies,  and  makes  no  signj  0  God,  forgive  him ! 

War.    So  bad  a  death  argues  a  monstrous  life. 

K.  Hen.    Forbear  to  judge,  for  we  are  sinners  all. — 
Close  up  his  eyes,  and  draw  the  curtain  close ; 
And  let  us  all  to  meditation. 

From  "  King  Henry  77." 


SHAKSPEARE. 

SCENE. — A  Tent  in  the  French  Camp. — LEAR  on  a  bed,  asleep;   Phy- 
sicians, Gentlemen,  and  others,  attending. 
Enter  CORDELIA  and  KENT. 

Cordelia.    0  thou  good  Kent,  how  shall  I  live,  and  work, 
To  match  thy  goodness  ?    My  life  will  be  too  short, 
And  every  measure  fail  me. 

Kent.    To  be  acknowledged,  madam,  is  o'er-paid. 
All  my  reports  go  with  the  modest  truth ; 
Nor  more,  nor  clipped,  but  so. 

Cor.    Be  better  suited : 

These  weeds  are  memories  of  those  worser  hours  ; 
I  pr'ythee,  put  them  off. 

Kent.    Pardon  me,  dear  madam ; 
Yet  to  be  known,  shortens  my  made  intent : 
My  boon  I  make  it,  that  you  know  me  not, 
Till  time  and  I  think  meet. 

Cor.    Then  be  it  so,  my  good  lord. — How  does  the  king? 

[To  the  Physician. 

Physician.    Madam,  sleeps  still. 

Cor.    0  you  kind  gods, 

Cure  this  great  breach  in  his  abused  nature ! 
The  untuned  and  jarring  senses,  0,  wind  up, 
Of  this  child-changed  father ! 

Phys.    So  please  your  majesty, 
That  we  may  wake  the  king?  he- hath  slept  long. 

Cor.    Be  governed  by  your  knowledge,  and  proceed 
F  the  sway  of  your  own  will.     Is  he  arrayed  ? 

Gent.    Ay,  madam ;  in  the  heaviness  of  his  sleep, 
We  put  fresh  garments  on  him. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  567 

Phys.    Be  by,  good  madam,  when  we  do  awake  him ; 
I  doubt  not  of  his  temperance. 

Cor.    Very  well. 

Phys.    Please  you,  draw  near. — Louder  the  music  there. 

Cor.    0  my  dear  father  !  Restoration,  hang 
Thy  medicine  on  my  lips  ;  and  let  this  kiss 
Repair  those  violent  harms,  that  my  two  sisters 
Have  in  thy  reverence  made  ! 

Kent.    Kind  and  dear  princess  ! 

Cor.    Had  you  not  been  their  father,  these  white  flakes 
Had  challenged  pity  of  them.     Was  this  a  face 
To  be  exposed  against  the  warring  winds  ? 
To  stand  against  the  deep  dread-bolted  thunder? 
In  the  most  terrible  and  nimble  stroke 
Of  quick,  cross-lightning?  to  watch  (poor  perdu!) 
With  this  thin  helm  ?  Mine  enemy's  dog, 
Though  he  had  bit  me,  should  have  stood  that  night 
Against  my  fire  ;  And  wast  thou  fain,  poor  father, 
To  hovel  thee  with  swine,  and  rogues  forlorn, 
In  shorty  and  musty  straw  ?  Alack  !  alack  ! 
'Tis  wonder,  that  thy  life  and  wits  at  once 
Had  not  concluded  all. — He  wakes  ;  speak  to  him. 

Phys.    Madam,  do  you  ;  'tis  fittest. 

Cor.    How  does  my  royal  lord  ?  How  fares  your  majesty  ? 

Lear.    You  do  me  wrong,  to  take  me  out  o'  the  grave : — 
Thou  art  a  soul  in  bliss ;  but  I  am  bound 
Upon  a  wheel  of  fire,  that  mine  own  tears 
Do  scald  like  molten  lead. 

Cor.    Sir,  do  you  know  me  ? 

Lear.    You  are  a  spirit,  I  know ;  When  did  you  die  ? 

Cor.    Still,  still,  far  wide ! 

Phys.    He's  scarce  awake  ;  let  him  alone  awhile. 

Lear.    Where  have  I  been?  Where  am  I?— Fair  day-light?— 
I  am  mightily  abused. — I  should  even  die  with  pity, 
To  see  another  thus. — I  know  not  what  to  say. — 
I  will  not  swear,  these  are  my  hands : — let's  see ; 
I  feel  this  pin  prick.     'Would  I  were  assured 
Of  my  condition. 

Cor.    0,  look  upon  me,  sir, 
And  hold  your  hands  in  benediction  o'er  me  : — 
No,  sir,  you  must  not  kneel. 

Lear.  Pray,  do  not  mock  me  : 
I  am  a  very  foolish  fond  old  man, 
Fourscore  ard  upward;  and,  to  deal  plainly, 


568  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

I  fear,  I  am  not  in  my  perfect  mind. 
Methinks,  I  should  know  you,  and  know  this  man ; 
Yet  I  am  doubtful :  for  I  ani  mainly  ignorant 
What  place  this  is :  and  all  the  skill  I  have 
Remembers  not  these  garments ;  nor  I  know  not 
Where  I  did  lodge  last  night :  Do  not  laugh  at  me ; 
For,  as  I  am  a  man,  I  think  this  lady 
To  be  my  child  Cordelia. 

Cor.    And  so  I  am,  I  am. 

Lear.    Be  your  tears  wet  ?    Yes,  'faith.    I  pray,  weep  not : 
If  you  have  poison  for  me,  I  will  drink  it. 
I  know,  you  do  not  love  me ;  for  your  sisters 
Have,  as  I  do  remember,  done  me  wrong : 
You  have  some  cause,  they  have  not. 

Cor.    No  cause,  no  cause. 

Lear.    Am  I  in  France  ? 

Kent.    In  your  own  kingdom,  sir. 

Lear.    Do  not  abuse  me. 

Phys.    Be  comforted,  good  madam :  the  great  rage, 
You  see,  is  cured  in  him :  and  yet  it  is  danger 
To  make  him  even  o'er  the  time  he  has  lost. 
Desire  him  to  go  in ;  trouble  him  no  more, 
Till  further  settling. 

Cor.    Will't  please  your  highness  walk  ? 

Lear.    You  must  bear  with  me : 
Pray  now,  forget  and  forgive  :  I  am  old,  and  foolish. 

[Exeunt  LEAR,  CORDELIA,  Physician,  and  Attendants. 

Gentleman.    Holds  it  true,  sir, 
That  the  duke  of  Cornwall  was  so  slain  ? 

Kent.    Most  certain,  sir. 

Gent.  Who  is  conductor  of  his  people  ? 

Kent.    As  'tis  said, 
The  bastard  son  of  Gloster. 

Gent.    They  say,  Edgar, 
His  banished  son,  is  with  the  earl  of  Kent 
In  Germany. 

Kent.    Report  is  changeable. 

'Tis  time  to  look  about ;  the  powers  o'  the  kingdom 
Approach  apace. 

Gent.    The  arbitrament  is  like  to  be  a  bloody. 
Fare  you  well,  sir.  [Exit. 

Kent.    My  point  and  period  will  be  throughly  wrought, 
Or  well,  or  ill,  as  this  day's  battle's  fought.  [Exit. 

From  "  King  Lear." 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  569 


THE   ENLISTMENT. 

GEORGE  FARQUHAR. 

Enter  SERGEANT  KITE,  followed  by  THOMAS  APPLETREE,  COSTAR,  PEAR- 
MAIN,  and  the  Mob. 

Serg.  Kite.  If  any  gentlemen,  soldiers,  or  others,  have  a  mind  to  serve 
his  majesty,  and  pull  down  the  French  king  ;  if  any  'prentices  have 
severe  masters,  any  children  have  undutiful  parents,  if  any  servants 
have  too  little  wages,  or  any  husband  too  much  wife,  let  them  repair 
to  the  noble  Sergeant  Kite,  at  the  sign  of  the  Raven,  in  this  good  town 
of  Shrewsbury,  and  they  shall  receive  present  relief  and  entertainment. 
[Drums  beat.]  Gentlemen,  I  don't  beat  my  drums  here  to  ensnare  or 
inveigle  any  man  ;  for  you  must  know,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  a  man  of 
honor :  besides,  I  don't  beat  up  for  common  soldiers ;  no,  I  list  only 
grenadiers,  grenadiers,  gentlemen.  Pray,  gentlemen,  observe  this  cap, 
this  is  the  cap  of  honor !  it  dubs  a  man  a  gentleman  in  the  drawing  of 
a  trigger,  and  he  that  has  the  good  fortune  to  be  born  six  feet  high  was 
born  to  be  a  great  man — sir,  will  you  give  me  leave  to  try  this  cap  upon 
your  head  ?  [To  COSTAR. 

Costar.     Is  there  no  harm  in't?     Won't  the  cap  list  me  ? 

Serg.  K.  No,  no,  no  more  than  I  can.  Come,  let  me  see  how  it 
becomes  you. 

Cost.  Are  you  sure  there  be  no  conjuration  in  it?  No  gunpowder 
plot  upon  me  ? 

Serg.  K.     No,  no,  friend ;  don't  fear,  man. 

Cost.  My  mind  misgives  me  plaguily. — Let  me  see  it — [Going  to 
put  it  on.]  It  smells  woundily  of  sweat  and  brimstone.  Smell, 
Tummas. 

Thomas.     Ay,  wauns  does  it. 

Cost.     Pray,  sergeant,  what  writing  is  this  upon  the  face  of  it  ? 

Serg.  K.     The  crown,  or  the  bed  of  honor. 

Cost.     Pray  now,  what  may  be  that  same  bed  of  honor? 

Serg.  K.  Oh !  a  mighty  large  bed  !  bigger  by  half  than  the  great 
bed  at  Ware — ten  thousand  people  may  lie  in  it  together  and  never  feel 
one  another. 

Cost.     But  do  folk  sleep  sound  in  this  same  bed  of  honor  ? 

Serg.  K.     Sound  !  ay,  so  sound  that  they  never  wake. 

Cost.     Wauns !     I  wish  that  my  wife  lay  there. 

Serg.  K.     Say  you  so  !  then  I  find,  brother — 

Cost.  Brother !  hold  there,  friend ;  I  am  no  kindred  to  you  that  I 
know  of  yet.  Look  ye,  sergeant,  no  coaxing,  no  wheedling,  d'ye  see—- 
if I  have  a  mind  to  list,  why  so — if  not,  why  'tis  not  so — therefore  take 
your  cap  and  your  brothership  back  again,  for  I  am  not  disposed  at  this 
present  writing.  No  coaxing,  no  brothering  me,  faith  1 
48* 


57J  THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Serg.  K.  I  coax,  I  wheedle !  I'm  above  it,  sir :  T  have  served  twenty 
campaigns — but,  sir,  you  talk  well,  and  I  must  own  that  you  are  a  man 
every  inch  of  you  ;  a  pretty,  young,  sprightly  fellow  !  I  love  a  fellow 
with  a  spirit ;  but  I  scorn  to  coax ;  'tis  base !  though  I  must  say  that 
never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  a  man  better  built.  How  firm  and  strong 

he  treads !  he  steps  like  a  castle !  but  I  scorn  to  wheedle  any  man 

Come,  honest  lad !  will  you  take  share  of  a  pot? 

Cost.  Nay,  for  that  matter  I'll  spend  my  penny  with  the  best,  hi 
that  wears  a  head,  that  is  begging*your  pardon,  sir,  and  in  a  fair  way. 

Serg.  K.  Give  me  your  hand  then  ;  and  now,  gentlemen,  I  have  no 
more  to  say  than  this — here's  a  purse  of  gold,  and  there  is  a  tub  of 
humming  ale  at  my  quarters — 'tis  the  king's  money  and  the  king's 
drink — he's  a  generous  king  and  loves  his  subjects — I  hope,  gentlemen 
you  won't  refuse  the  king's  health. 

All  Mob.    No,  no,  no. 

Serg.  K.  Huzza  then  !  huzza  for  the  king  and  the  honor  of  Shrop 
shire. 

All  Mob.     Huzza ! 

Serg.  K.    Beat  drum.     [Exeunt. 

From  "  The  Recruiting  Officer." 


A   CONSULTATION   OF   PHYSICIANS  IN  PAKIS. 

MOLIliRE. 

SCENE. — The  Doctors  seated  together  in  an  apartment. 
DR.  DESFONANDRES  and  DR.  TOMES. 

Dr.  DesfonandrZs.  Paris  is  a  very  extensive  city,  and  with  such  a 
practice  as  mine,  one  must  make  long  journeys  in  a  day. 

Dr.  Tomes.  Well,  that  is  true,  but  I  have  so  easy  and  excellent  a 
mule  that  I  am  unconscious  of  the  amount  of  my  travel. 

Dr.  D.     I  have  a  wonderful  horse  ;  an  indefatigable  animal. 

Dr.  T.  Do  you  know  what  my  mule  has  done  to-day  ?  I  went  first 
to  a  place  opposite  the  arsenal ;  from  the  arsenal  to  the  Faubourg  Saint 
Germain  ;  from  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain  to  the  end  of  the  Marais ; 
from  the  end  of  the  Marais  to  the  city  gate  of  St.  Honor6  ;  from  the 
gate  of  St.  HonorS  to  the  Faubourg  Saint  James ;  from  the  Faubourg 
Saint  James  to  the  gate  Richelieu;  from  the  gate  Richelieu  I  came 
here,  and  from  hence  I  must  yet  go  to  the  Place  Royale. 

Dr.  D.  My  horse  has  accomplished  all  that,  and  I  went  besides  to 
Ruel  to  see  a  patient. 

Dr.  T.  Apropos  of  that,  what  part  do  you  espouse  in  the  quarrel 
between  the  two  physicians,  Theophrastus  and  Artemius  ?  for  that  is 
an  affair  which  divides  our  respectable  fraternity. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DRAMA.  573 

Dr.  D.     I  arn  for  Artemius. 

Dr.  T.  And  I  also.  It  is  not  because  his  advice,  as  we  have  seen, 
did  not  kill  the  patient,  and  that  that  of  Theophrastus  would  not  have 
been  better  assuredly ;  but  it  is  dangerous  and  disagreeable  to  diffei 
from  one's  old  and  respectable  authorities.  What  do  you  think  ? 

Dr.  D.  Undoubtedly,  the  formalities  must  be  guarded,  whatever 
happens. 

Dr.  T.  As  for  me,  I  am  severe  as  possible,  unless  it  be  among 
friends.  We  were  assembled  one  day,  three  of  us  friends,  and  one  from 
a  distance,  for  a  consultation  ;  in  which  I  stopped  the  whole  affair,  and 
would  not  permit  an  opinion  to  be  expressed,  unless  it  were  done  in  due 
order.  The  people  of  the  household  were  doing  what  they  could  for 
the  sick  man,  and  the  malady  was  pressing ;  but  I  would  not  recede, 
and  the  poor  fellow  died  bravely  during  our  dispute.  A  man  dead  is 
only  a  dead  man,  and  that  is  of  little  consequence ;  but  a  formality 
neglected  brings  great  prejudice  upon  the  whole  body  of  physicians. 
[Sganarelle  enters  precipitately  at  this  point  of  their  conference. 

Sganarelle.  Gentlemen,  my  daughter's  oppression  increases ;  let  me 
beg  that  you  will  tell  me  what  you  have  resolved  upon. 

Dr.  T.,  addressing  Dr.  D.    Well,  sir ! 

Dr.  D.     No  sir,  speak  if  you  please. 

Dr.  T.     You  are  making  sport  of  me. 

Dr.  D.     I  will  not  speak  first 

Dr.  T.     Sir! 

Dr.  D.     Sir ! 

Sgan.  For  Heaven's  sake,  gentlemen,  leave  these  ceremonies,  and 
remember  that  every  moment  increases  the  danger. 

[Now  they  both  begin  to  speak  at  the  same  time. 

Dr.  T.     The  sickness  of  your  daughter 

Dr.  D.     The  general  opinion  of  the  faculty  in  this  case 

Dr.  Macroton.     Af — ter,  having  well  de — lib — erated 

Dr.  Bahis.     To  reason  upon  this 

Sgan.     Gentlemen,  speak  one  after  another,  if  you  please. 

Dr.  T.  Well,  sir,  we  have  deliberated  upon  the  malady  of  your 
daughter,  and  my  opinion  is  that  it  proceeds  from  a  great  heat  of  the 
blood :  so  I  conclude  that  she  ought  to  be  bled  as  soon  as  possible. 

Dr.  D.  And  I  say  that  the  malady  is  an  abscess,  caused  by  too 
great  repletion  :  so  I  propose  to  give  her  an  emetic. 

Dr.  T.     I  maintain  that  the  emetic  will  kill  her. 

Dr.  D.     And  I,  that  the  bleeding  will  cause  her  death ! 

Dr.  T.     You  are  a  pretty  fellow  to  set  up  for  a  skilful  physician. 

Dr.  D.     Yes  /,  indeed !    I  can  beat  you  at  any  kind  of  learning. 

Dr.  T.  Ha!  Do  you  remember  the  man  you  killed  by  mal-practice 
a  few  days  ago  ? 


572          THE  SELECT  ACADEMIC  SPEAKER. 

Dr.  D.  Do  you  remember  the  lady  you  sent  to  the  next  world  three 
days  since? 

Dr.  T.     [To  SganarelleJ\    I  have  told  you  my  opinion. 

Dr.  D.     [To  Sganarelle.]     I  have  given  you  my  advice. 

Dr.  T.  If  you  do  not  have  your  daughter  bled  immediately,  she  is  a 
dead  person.  [Exit. 

Dr.  D.  If  you  let  her  be  bled,  she  will  not  be  alive  in  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  [Exit. 

"  Original  Translation  from  IS  Amour  Mtdecin" 


THE    END. 


HEARS  &  DUSENBERY.  STEREOTYPER8.  PRINTED  BY   3HERMAN  k  CO. 


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Coodrich's  Pictorial  History  of  the  United  States . 

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torial  History  of  England.  By  S.  G.  GOODRICH,  author  of  "  Pictorial  History  of  th« 
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History  jf  Ancient  Rome,  with  sketches  of  the  History  of  Modern  Italy.  By  S.  Q 
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sons  in  Geography;  for  young  children.  Designed  as  an  Introduction  to  ttu 
author's  Primary  Geography.  By  S.  AUGUSTUS  MITCHELL,  author  of  a  Series  ai 
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